


to rule the fate of many

by authoressjean



Series: the changed future [14]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, And if you want to know who it is ASK ME, Angst, Because I love my happy endings, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, In which fate is a bitch, M/M, Major Character Death in Chapter 18, Minor Character Death, No violence or death to children, Non-Graphic Violence, Not how I roll, Only one major character dies, Serious case of feels, Time for some thrilling heroics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 149,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many." – Gandalf the Grey</p><p>"Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? …For even the very wise cannot see all ends." – Gandalf the Grey </p><p>Ten years after the Ring was destroyed, kings were crowned, and a hobbit married a dwarf, peace rings across all lands.</p><p>But as they will all learn, wickedness still resides in Middle-Earth, and it will strike out for its own selfish gains. When the Shire, and Bilbo, are threatened, the former Ringbearer will find numerous allies at his side, some old friends, some new faces, to oppose the new threat.</p><p>Yet the greater threat is one that they may not be able to circumvent: Fate itself. For Fate has been denied lives it was meant to take years ago, and the very hobbit who strives to stop Fate's hand may be the one that tips it.</p><p>----</p><p>A/N: If you are concerned about the Major Character Death tag PLEASE SEE THE NOTE IN THE FIRST CHAPTER. I will make it better I swear. There are fics planned for after this one!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foul winds in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god.
> 
> Here we go again.
> 
> Please read the tags. I am not sorry. Okay, I am, but let me explain.
> 
> When I started writing 'to change' I had this MASSIVE plot in my head...and more than half of it got scrapped. Because it just didn't fit.
> 
> Well, here's the second half. For there are other canonical things that have to happen, as far as I'm concerned, and more story to tell, and it will be beautiful. And angsty. Angsty as all sin.
> 
> And I haven't the foggiest how long it's going to be. Um, long. Hopefully not 'to change' long. But long.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ten year celebration is supposed to share the joy of peace throughout the land. A darkness creeps in and will strike out close to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Characters are those listed in the Character tags above. Any of those characters could die. If it's killing you to not know who's going to end up passing on, please read the notes at the top of Chapter 2.

Everything seemed so neatly polished Bilbo almost couldn’t stand it. The very stones seemed to gleam with the attention given to them, and the mountain had come alive in such a short time. It seemed almost like yesterday when they had begun cleaning and preparing the mountain for the great celebration.

It felt like yesterday for a great many other things, too.

Ten years. Ten years of rule, and shortly after that, of marriage. Something fluttered in his breast at the thought, and he reached out to steady himself on the rail as he stared down at the comings and goings of the kingdom. All of the dwarves below were moving as if the very stones compelled them to, racing with goods and deliverables, all of them intent on making this a celebration to remember. Erebor, the mountain, seemed to almost breathe with the production going on, the halls glittering and the gold shining. The wind flew above the gates and into the mountain, stirring the various banners and silk flags hanging everywhere. Bilbo stared out into it, entranced, feeling like a child again as he watched Gandalf’s fireworks for the very first time.

It was wondrous. Simply magical. And the knowledge of why it was being done, that it was all to celebrate his incredible husband…it was enough to put a smile on his face and joy in his heart.

“Not s’posed to go wanderin’ off, your majesty.”

Well, that hadn’t taken long.

“Dril, there’s only so much I can do from the chambers,” Bilbo said, attempting to keep the irritation from his voice. “I wanted to see what was going on.”

“Which is all fine and well, but his majesty the King was going to come meet you, as it were.” The large dwarf gave a wink. “And he doesn’t like not findin’ you. Might’ve gone down another rabbit hole.”

Should’ve known it had to do with that air gap. Two years and it was _still_ a point Thorin kept making again and again. “That hole wasn’t anywhere as small as a rabbit hole, and what was I supposed to do? Leave my grand-niece down there?” Still, he was grinning by the time he was finished, and Dril chuckled good-naturedly. That _had_ been an adventure. And Thorin had threatened him for a good week afterwards about braiding bells into his hair in order to keep track of him.

Bilbo wasn’t entirely certain his husband had been _joking_. And he was certain that if given half a chance, Thorin would have bells made to place in his hair within a day, if he hadn’t made them already.

“Lili’d have found a way out. She’s a rascal, she is.”

That, Bilbo wouldn’t argue with. Hildili was a menace, even more than her older brother. Even at six years of age now, she still had a grin that spelled trouble. “Lili’s got her mother’s spirit and her father’s penchant for mischief, whereas her brother’s got a bit of mischief but more of Fili’s thoughtfulness and Dernwyn’s stubbornness.”

“Just makes ‘em both handfuls. Cute handfuls, mind.”

That was possibly one of the best descriptions of the little ones he’d heard yet. “Why are you really chasing me down?” Bilbo asked, the other conversation having died a natural death. “I’m here, I’m only taking a short break from my ‘royal’ duties which, really, should be in Fili’s hands-“

Dril cleared his throat to interrupt him. Bilbo frowned until he felt two arms wrap around him from behind. “Because I really don’t like not knowing where you are,” Thorin murmured. Dril gave him a quick nod and left them alone to watch the great hall below. “And I don’t like being alone.”

“You were surrounded by the Council; I hardly doubt you were alone. One would think you’d want more time alone after that nonsense.”

Thorin snorted. “They’re getting better. Nadr’s son, Valdr, sat in today.”

“Oh? How was he?”

“Good, very good. He knows the matters well, though his favorite discussion involves the young maidens coming from Rohan. Apparently Dernwyn’s set a _very_ favorable impression with the young dwarves.”

Bilbo laughed, leaning back into his husband. A trail of silver hair fell beside Thorin's marriage braid, and Bilbo slid his finger along it fondly. It wasn’t all silver, not yet. But much of Thorin’s hair had begun to turn and glisten, which left him grumbling more often than not. Bilbo’s hair, on the other hand, was still golden and filled with curls, only serving to annoy his husband further.

Truthfully, there was a small patch going gray at the nape of his neck, hidden beneath his hair. But _that_ no one needed to know about just yet. Especially not Thorin. His husband wouldn’t admit to it, but Thorin would absolutely gloat and they all knew it.

“Why am I being chased down again?” Bilbo asked, a hint of seriousness in his tone.

Thorin let out a sigh and pulled Bilbo deeper into his arms. “You know why,” he said softly.

He did. And he hated, _hated_ , that nothing he could do or say would alleviate his husband’s fears. “Thorin, we’ve had nothing but peace for years now. Years. We have our greatest allies coming to join us at the feast, complete with their own armies, there is absolutely _nothing_ that can go wrong. We’re safe.” He swallowed and let his hand trail behind him from Thorin’s hair up to his cheek. “ _I’m_ safe.”

Thorin didn’t answer. Bilbo didn’t speak again: his words could offer no true comfort the way his beating heart and presence could. If Thorin’s grip was a little tighter, hands splayed almost possessively across Bilbo’s chest and midsection, well, he really couldn’t blame his husband. Ten years ago, Bilbo had nearly died to save them all. And only three years after that, he’d nearly been assassinated at the hands of two dwarves aiming to ‘cleanse’ the mountain of the foreigners within. Then only two years ago, there’d been thieves to run out from beneath the mountain. Three had been slain in the short skirmish that followed, and the other two had died in prison by their own hands.

But there had been peace ever since. Mirkwood was all but reclaimed, leaving Legolas the sole heir to the kingdom. King Elessar reported peace along Gondor’s borders. Queen Morwen wrote often to Dernwyn of the good fortunes that had come to the Rohirrim and how Théoden would soon wear the crown. And even now, several brave hobbits were making the journey with dwarven guards to Erebor, just to visit and celebrate ten years of freedom from Mordor, ten years of crowned kings across Middle-Earth, and, more privately, ten years of marriage between one dwarf king and one hobbit formerly of Bag-End.

Peace. They finally had peace.

“Worrier,” Bilbo accused gently. He nudged at Thorin who grunted but didn’t disagree. “And here I thought you had the Guard following me because I was getting over being ill.”

“That _was_ a reason. Just not the principal one. Truthfully, you could do everything you need to from the royal rooms.”

“And miss out on the going-ons of the mountain?”

“Yes,” Thorin said stubbornly. Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Just last week you were so ill you could barely sit up in bed, so I will offer no apologies for being concerned.”

Half the mountain had been ill; Thorin had told him once that dwarves could not be ill, but after continuous contact with men as they traded, the occasional sickness happened. At least Dwalin hadn’t gotten sick this time, as Bilbo’d had no energy to get out of bed and yell at him. Again. “I’m fine, actually. I’m mostly over it. Just a little bit of a cough.” And a random tendency for the room to spin, but _that_ his husband didn’t need to know about. He’d be fine. Oin had said so. …Mostly.

His husband pinned him with a look but, thankfully, said nothing. “You would put my heart more at ease if you were resting,” Thorin said, and Bilbo scowled at him, because _that_ wasn’t fair.

“That’s cheating,” Bilbo mumbled, but Thorin had him and he knew it. If it made his husband happy, no matter what it was, odds were that Bilbo would at least try to do it. Even if it included sitting in the boring main room of the royal wing to satisfy his husband’s worries.

Thorin pressed a kiss against his temple. “If it means you rest without over exerting yourself, then yes, I’ll cheat. Between worrying about someone aiming to make a political statement by hurting you, and then watching you fall ill, more ill than even in Esgaroth so many years ago…”

“Oh, grind it in, why don’t you,” Bilbo grumbled, but he finally leaned back into Thorin with a sigh. His head caused a clinking sound when it met the mithril braided into Thorin’s beard. “I’ll go back to the rooms. I just…wanted to see what was going on. It’s brilliant, all of it to celebrate you.” He couldn’t help the smile that arose. “They’re all here for you. All of them thrilled that you’re their king.”

“They’re also here for you,” Thorin pointed out, but when Bilbo glanced over his shoulder, his dwarf’s face had gone a little pink with embarrassment. “You saved us all, ten years ago. And not a single being here will ever forget it.”

No, Bilbo knew that. Ori had told him that they had begun writing the newest history scrolls, and Bilbo featured prominently alongside the heroic Durins. It was enough to make a hobbit blush. _Him_ in a history book! His mother would never have believed it.

Maybe she would have. Either way, she would’ve laughed and demanded to read it. It made him smile.

“I couldn’t have finished it without you,” Bilbo pointed out. “If you hadn’t carried me…I don’t know what I would’ve done.” Perhaps he would’ve made it. Perhaps he could’ve gotten to the top of Mount Doom on his own.

But he never would’ve had the strength in the very end if it hadn’t been for Thorin’s presence. Even when Bilbo had thought him to just be a hallucination, it had still bolstered his determination and given him the power to push the Ring aside and finish the task. No, Thorin never gave himself enough credit. If Thorin hadn’t arrived, Bilbo was fairly certain that he never would have made it. And if Thorin had never come to Bag-End that one fateful night, Bilbo would never have known just how strong he could be.

Thorin placed another kiss – this one on top of Bilbo’s head – and glanced down at the work below. “It’s lovely to watch,” Bilbo said, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re here with me, so technically, there’s nothing to worry about…”

His husband could sigh like no other. “For a little while,” Thorin acquiesced, and Bilbo grinned.

After the celebration, Thorin would be a lot less worried. And the celebration itself would be beautiful, Thorin would see.

He leaned back into his husband, Thorin’s hands still cradling him, and smiled in contentment.

  
  


The forest flew by in a rush as she ran. Everything looked too tall, too dark, and all of it terrifying. Her stomach felt tight, too tight, and she wrapped a hand around it as she hurried on. Branches threatened to trip her or give her away. Leaves rustled in the wind, and there was something important there – a scent, perhaps, her father had always spoken about scents for hunting. But she was the hunted now, and it all faded out of her head because she had blood trailing down her face and spattered across her clothes and her feet were sore and bleeding from the ground.

Through it all, she could hear the screams of those behind her, those she’d abandoned in her attempt to escape.

She kept running.

The trees began to thin and part, leaving her an easier path, and finally she emerged from the woods. The moon wasn’t quite full, but she could still make out the land before her: the city glowing in the distance, the glistening river that crept out of the forest to her right.

And up ahead, the tall mountain that pierced the sky. _Erebor_.

They had to be closing in, now. With a sob she forced herself onward. She had to make it to Erebor. She had to get help. As terrified and helpless as she was, how were the others faring? No, she was the lucky one. _What would Bilbo do?_

Bilbo had walked all across Middle-Earth with the world’s worst enemy hanging about his neck, and he was only part Took. She was full-blooded Took, and she could do this.

“Get ‘er!”

She whipped around, her long blonde hair keeping her from seeing before she swiped it from her eyes. There they were, streaming out of the forest after her. Only three had followed her, but they looked as insurmountable as the mountain behind her. She couldn’t fight three, not even with the small blade she’d insisted on carrying.

The sound of racing hooves made her whip back around, terror making her stomach roll. Sweet Eru, had they double-backed to trap her? That was a horse, it was definitely a horse-

A whistle in the air was all the warning she got before those chasing her dropped to the ground. She stared at the arrows, not quite understanding what had happened. None of them moved, and the moon lit the sky just enough for her to see the arrows jutting out from their chests. _Dead, they’re dead, they can’t follow you anymore._ She forced herself to take in a breath.

“Are you all right?”

She turned, stunned at the voice. It couldn’t be. It just _couldn’t_. She spun around and stared at the being she’d long thought of. “Tauriel?” she whispered.

The elf’s eyes went wide with recognition. And that was the last thing she saw before her own eyes fluttered shut and her body simply shut down.

She still heard her name being called in horror.

“ _Esmeralda?!_ ”

  
  


The night was cold, the breeze sharp, but neither were anything to worry about. There was nothing to be seen across the field before Erebor, and no one was expected to reach Erebor until the morrow. For all intents and purposes, it was a peaceful night.

So Legolas was not sure what it was that drew him down to the gates, where the Guard was. Tauriel was not late with her border patrol, but neither had she been assigned the duty, either. She had simply told him that something in the wind had called her, and he had trusted her intuition, especially when she had rode hard to Mirkwood.

Despite the promise of Kili waiting for him in their chambers, Legolas had remained at the wall, standing with the Guards, seeking his kin through the night. No sound had reached him yet. He closed his eyes, trying to pick out a voice in the wind, as light as it was this night.

“Anythin’?”

Legolas shook his head. “Nothing. But Tauriel would not leave without a reason.”

Dwalin nodded and looked out into the night. Though he could not see as far as Legolas, the elf knew that the dwarf would move to aid in an instant, if it were called for. Their beginning had been rocky at best, but now the dwarf was what Legolas would call a friend, even a good friend. In a time of trouble, Legolas would be grateful to have Dwalin fighting beside him. “Wouldn’t cross her, no. Or mess with her intuition. She’s a good ear for trouble.”

“I trust her,” Legolas agreed. “If she says something is amiss, I-“

The wind gusted through, and the fear and bloodshed it carried with it left him frozen. “You all right?” Dwalin asked, frowning. “Legolas?”

“Something’s wrong,” Legolas whispered, unable to raise his voice. He felt sick at how wrong it was. So much despair and fear and _death_. It felt like a poison had been poured upon his very soul. Something was indeed wrong.

Dwalin hefted his blade and made for the stairs. “How many?” he called.

“I do not know. More than we could fight on our own,” Legolas said grimly. They would need more than two to answer the cries that the wind had brought him. He began to follow, then paused. Off in the distance, fast approaching, was a light horse, two figures astride it. Tauriel.

“She’s returned,” Legolas said, and he quickly moved ahead of Dwalin. He all but flew down the stairs that led to the side hallway, then nearly slid down the rail of the next stairway to reach the ground floor. Dwalin was hurrying behind him, Legolas could hear it, sharp breaths and heavy footfalls that promised death and destruction to those who dared to strike and harm.

Unfortunately for the poor souls whose cries still lingered in the wind, the dwarf was too late.

The main gate was opening, and Tauriel rode in, holding a brown bundle in her arms. “Take her,” she urged, and bewildered, Legolas did. The brown bundle shifted, a whimper of pain sounding familiar and teasing at his memory. The weight, the sound, the gentle blonde curls from beneath the cloak Tauriel typically wore-

The bare, hairy feet. Legolas held his breath and carefully lifted the hood away from the small, frightened face.

Twin pools of misery locked on him, and the little one in his arms hitched a breath. “Leg’las,” she whispered.

“Mahal,” Dwalin breathed, stunned. “Esmeralda?” The hobbit flinched, shutting her eyes tight. It was enough to push Legolas into action.

“Call for Bilbo and Thorin and anyone else you can wake,” he said, and Dwalin, for once, did not argue at the instructions, but yelled at two guards to follow the command. “Tauriel-“

“When they arrive,” she said darkly. “I will tell all when they arrive. She needs a healer.”

Now that she had said it, Legolas could see the blood still sliding down Esmeralda’s face. He gently wiped it away with his hand, keeping his touch light and soothing. Esmeralda’s eyes remained closed, but the tightness around them eased. Her fingers, clutching at a small golden locket hanging about her neck, were bruised and torn, and her feet were messy and nicked. He could only imagine how else she was injured beneath the cloak. “Are you grievously injured, Esse?” he asked, after deciding to use the informal, familiar name.

She opened her eyes at the name, and her lower lip wobbled. After a moment, she shook her head, but her fingers released the locket to clutch at him instead. Legolas held her more closely. She was safe within Erebor’s walls, but it was all different and new to her. A familiar face and name would ease the heartache.

He refused to think of the other voices he could hear fading in the wind. He refused to think of the other hobbits who had come with Esmeralda. When she was well enough to speak, when she was healed, then they would know.

“ _Esmeralda!_ ”

Esmeralda immediately pushed herself up as much as she could at Bilbo’s terrified cry. The hobbit raced down the stairs, not even looking where he was going, his eyes too fixed on his cousin. “Esse!” he shouted again. Behind him, Thorin and Kili were desperate to keep up.

Esmeralda’s eyes filled with tears as Bilbo flew towards her. “Bilbo,” she whispered, and then Bilbo slid to the ground beside her, arms already opening. She choked on a sob and tumbled into him, clutching at him with her one hand. Her other hand remained firmly wrapped around Legolas’s tunic, and Legolas let her. Anything he could offer as comfort, he would give.

It did not take long for someone else to take his place. Tauriel, having seen to the horse, returned, and quickly knelt beside Esmeralda. She whispered something that even Legolas could not hear, surprising him, but Esmeralda moved her hand from Legolas’s tunic to Tauriel’s hand, clutching it fiercely. Bilbo refused to let go of his cousin, his arms wrapped tightly around her, face buried in her hair.

Thorin slowed to a stop behind his husband, taking the scene in with a grave face. Kili glanced at them briefly before hurrying to Legolas. His hair was mussed, as if he had already been abed, and his tunic looked hastily thrown on, if the mismatched buttons were any indication. “Are you all right?” Kili asked softly as he crouched beside him.

How could Legolas begin to describe the terrible pain in his heart at the wretched cries in the night? How could he tell Kili that others were hurt and dead, innocent lives taken, and that Esmeralda may have been the only survivor? How could he tell them all that Bilbo’s kin were dead, and they had been painful, merciless, cruel deaths?

“Legolas,” Kili murmured, worry in his gaze. “You’re trembling.” He shifted in his crouch and wrapped an arm around his husband. “What happened?”

Legolas swallowed. “Blood has been spilt,” was all he could say, as quietly as he could, but both Bilbo and Thorin’s heads immediately whipped up to see him. Bilbo turned to Tauriel, eyes pleading for a different answer, but Tauriel lowered her gaze. It made Legolas ache to see the plea in his friend’s eyes devolve into disbelief, only to be followed swiftly by grief. Esmeralda wept quietly, but it almost seemed to echo in the cavernous hall.

Thorin, thankfully, took command. “Tauriel, she needs a healer,” he said, voice soft but still filled with power. “Bear her hence. Legolas, Kili, wake the others. Dwalin, bring more guards to the Gate for the night.”

He did not bother speaking to his husband. They all knew that Bilbo would not leave his cousin’s side.

Thorin’s own actions did not need words, either.

Tauriel gently gathered Esmeralda in her arms as if she were made of glass. Bilbo hovered by her side, barely coming to Tauriel’s lowered elbows. Thorin followed behind them, and the four disappeared further into Erebor.

Kili stood when Legolas did, but neither moved for a long moment. “What _happened_?” Kili could not help but ask, completely bewildered.

Legolas shook his head. “Death. That is what happened. And it happened to an innocent race who did not deserve it.” His mind brought forth the smiling faces of Primula and Drogo, whom he had met so many years ago, and for a moment, he dared not breathe. Bilbo had spoken of their child, once-

Kili took him by the hand and pulled him from his dark reverie. “We won’t get answers until everyone’s awake,” he pointed out. “Royal chambers first, then everyone else.”

Legolas gave a short nod, and they flew through Erebor to the main hall and to those whose night had not yet been disturbed by evil.


	2. A tale of woe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Esmeralda tells her tale, and dark things begin to reveal themselves. Bofur runs straight into his heart's longing, but may not be able to do anything.
> 
> Author's Note: Please read the notes below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEAR YE THE FIRST. A Major Character is one listed in the character list above, which means a character I could write a POV from. That's who I count.
> 
> HEAR YE THE SECOND. There is a happy ending in mind. Lotta angst and bloodshed and tears and action and fighting before then, but there is a happy ending.
> 
> HEAR YE THE THIRD. Now, I sat and thought about this, as I don't want to spoil the ending, so I can't guarantee which character will live HERE on AO3. HOWEVER if you're dying to know and you need to know if a particular character will live/need to know who dies, I've decided to open up my email. You can email me at jean.authoress (at) gmail (dot) com. Please replace words in parentheses with appropriate punctuation/symbols. (That's to ward off the spambots.) Shoot me an email and I'll answer any questions you have there. This is open to anyone: just let me know that you're from AO3, whether you have an account here or you're just browsing. :)
> 
> Does that help? Because angst and cliffhangers are only so much fun if there's an appreciation for tension. Making people nervous and unhappy is NOT fun and totally not my intent. So this is me remedying that.
> 
> Character death is in chapter 18. It is the only major character death in the fic.
> 
> Minor characters can and will fall as I see fit. Dun dun dun.

Waiting for everyone to gather was almost more than Bilbo could stomach. At least Esmeralda was no longer weeping; she was curled up in Tauriel’s arms, resting against the elf. Tauriel had refused to hand her over to anyone else save for Bilbo, and when it had become apparent that Bilbo couldn’t keep her in his own arms without losing his own composure, she had swiftly taken her, and that had been that.

He was still only moments from breaking, and thankfully, Thorin was standing away from him, nowhere close to touching him. If he did, it would be the end of Bilbo hanging onto his stiff upper lip. And he had to hold onto it: if he wept, they’d get absolutely nowhere.

His mind taunted him with Primula and Drogo and their child, Elodie, only a little older than Holdred now. Holdred had been ecstatic to know he had a cousin-

He wrapped his fingers into his hair and pulled hard, and finally Bilbo could breathe again. Where were the others?

His answer was given when the doors quickly flew open, and more than half the company tumbled in. “Others are on their way,” Fili said, panting slightly.

Most of everyone was there, and that was good enough for Bilbo. “Oin,” he said, and Oin set his ear horn down with a sigh. The healer was getting older with every day, but he was still the best that Erebor had. Not a day went by when his expertise was not valued or sought after. And right now, he was the only one Bilbo wanted to hear from.

“A few scratches and bruises,” Oin said. He rubbed at his chin before continuing. “Nasty wound on her leg. But I’m positive she’ll walk just fine: she ran sure enough on it.” He bent down just enough to meet Esmeralda’s gaze, and his smile was kind. “You’re a tough one, and no two ways about it!”

Esmeralda sniffled and tried to offer a smile, but it trembled so much that it fell within moments. Bilbo could finally stand it no longer and went back to her side, hands resting on her shoulders. She felt like the field mouse Bilbo had rescued once from a tomcat’s jaws: shivering, small, and her wide eyes fixed on him as if not certain whether he could truly save her.

He’d saved all of Middle-Earth. He could help and save his cousin. “You’re the safest you could ever imagine being, here in Erebor,” he told her. He settled beside her in a kneeling position, one that let him take the pressure off of his ankle. It seemed to flare every year as time went on, but it was nowhere close to his biggest concern at the moment. His ankle could go hang itself: he had a cousin to comfort. “And there’s a passel of dwarves ready to stand between you and anything that could come through that door.”

Kili came over, as bright a smile as he could on his face, and Esmeralda’s eyes immediately flew to him. “I told you that when you came, you’d get to meet my brother,” he said, and he nodded his head towards Fili, who was already on his way to join them. “And he’ll join me in keeping you safe, I swear it, Esse.” Fili gave a bow.

Esmeralda burst into tears, hands flying up to cover her face. Bilbo fought to catch the words that tumbled out between her sobs, and only caught apologies and mentions of kin. “Esse, it’s all right,” Bilbo said, brushing hair back behind her ears. “I promise.”

“Tell us what happened, and we will make it right,” Tauriel swore softly. “I swear to you.” She spoke a word in Sindarin that made Legolas shift his stance in surprise, but Tauriel didn’t look at him. Bilbo filed the thought away for later and kept running his fingers through Esmeralda’s hair, much as he had when she’d been but a child. He’d watched over her and a few of his other cousins when he’d come of age, remembered watching her toddle over to him and curl up in his lap. He remembered brushing her hair away with naught but his fingertips, gently humming a lullaby as she napped.

It seemed cruel that his young, boisterous, bright cousin was here, reduced to a trembling and fearful bundle of wounds and tears. He resisted the urge to tighten his hands into fists and instead continued kneeling beside her.

“You give me a name, lass, and I’ll see it removed from the earth,” Dwalin growled, and it was at his voice that Esmeralda actually hiccupped a small laugh, tears still falling from her eyes. But she was no longer hiding in her hands, and there was almost a smile on her face.

“Oh I’ve missed you, missed you all,” she said. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “I’m very pleased to meet you Fili, and everyone else whose names I don’t know. Forgive me, I’m…” She swallowed and began crying anew. “They just…”

“Nothin’ to forgive,” Gimli assured her. He came over and offered her a handkerchief, and she took it with a grateful smile to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. Bilbo was fairly certain that the handkerchief was one of his, but at the moment, he was far too thankful that Gimli had had the sense to take one from Bilbo’s room to care. When Dril had burst into their quarters, startling Thorin and Bilbo both as they’d poured over plans for the celebrations, and had told him that his young cousin was there, nearly dead-

All the dwarves really needed to learn how to catch their attention without stopping Bilbo’s heart, _really_.

“No, but there is,” Esmeralda said, almost desperately. “If we hadn’t been traveling, y-your kin wouldn’t be dead.” She wiped at her eyes again.

Dead. The dwarves that had been protecting his cousins were dead. Bilbo glanced back at Dwalin and Thorin briefly and found them both looking grim and tense. They’d been some of Dwalin’s best dwarves that they’d sent, in order to guide Bilbo’s cousins across the Misty Mountains and bring them safely to Erebor.

He turned back to Esmeralda. “What happened, Esse?” he asked softly.

Esmeralda fretted with the handkerchief in her hands, twisting it this way and that. “Perhaps later,” Dis began, but then Esmeralda began to speak.

“We were in Mirkwood, the forest, when they attacked. They just…came out of nowhere. And they had these terrible weapons and they…they _killed_ so many. And they, they…” Her body began to shake, and she buried her face in her hands, pressing the handkerchief to her eyes.

Bilbo thought he’d be sick. She should never, _ever_ , have had to face death that way. Not this young. She was barely of age, and on what should have been a bright, hopeful journey, she’d been forced to witness brutal murders. His hand started to tremble and he pulled it away to keep himself from frightening her further. The dwarves around them moved in closer, a small semi-circle around the bench Tauriel sat on, a wall of muscle and strength and heart.

Esmeralda took in a shuddering gasp and blurted the rest of it out. “They rounded us up in a group, and they started poking at me, so Saradoc fought back and they struck him. Prim shoved me away and one of them caught me by the leg with his sword, but I kept my feet under me and just kept going. I just…ran. And I got out of the forests and saw Erebor and they were chasing me but…” She swallowed. “Tauriel found me. And then I was here.”

Thorin glanced at Dwalin and nodded, and the two silently left. Their spots were immediately filled by Dernwyn and Bifur, and the sight of another woman and a familiar friend left Esmeralda instantly relieved, if her dropped shoulders were anything to go by. Though she didn’t smile broadly, her lips did curl up as they offered her tea and fresh bread from the kitchen, a warm bath that would do her well. Bilbo took the moment to glance behind him and past the circle. His husband and friend were disappearing out of the room, faces dark. Whatever they were saying, it wasn’t anything they wanted Esmeralda to hear.

He glanced back and found Dis watching him. She nodded once, but it was enough. She would take charge of Esmeralda from here. Bilbo rose to unsteady feet and let Dis swoop in, her voice gentle. “I have clothes for you that I think would fit just fine, Esmeralda. Dernwyn was right in that there’s fresh food and warm baths. I have heard so much about you…”

Dis’s voice faded as Bilbo slipped out the door. Two shadows were disappearing around the corner, and he followed them both until they ducked into one of the council rooms. Before the door could close behind them, Bilbo slid in, and if Thorin was annoyed by his being there, he made no show of it. And if he _had_ , Bilbo would’ve given him an earful.

Dwalin certainly didn’t look happy to see him. “You don’t want to hear this,” the dwarf warned.

“Part of the Guard is dead, and my cousins may very well be lost forever,” Bilbo said tersely. “I’m not certain how much worse it can get.”

“It’d take a strong force to take out my dwarves,” Dwalin said. “And there’s not many who travel that road we plotted out. S’not the main road through Mirkwood.”

The implications were nothing Bilbo wanted to hear, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Whoever had attacked his cousins had waited for them. More than that, they’d _known_. They’d known that a small group of hobbits, armed with dwarven guards, would be traveling through and down that road. It was almost more than Bilbo could fathom at the moment.

Legolas stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “She has been taken for food and comfort,” he said. “She is in good hands. Before she went, however, she spoke a few more words about the attack.” He didn’t look happy, and Bilbo knew he’d hate whatever words came next from his mouth. If the way Thorin and Dwalin tensed beside him, they were feeling the same way.

With pursed lips Legolas said, “She said they were men and dwarves. They called themselves thieves.”

It felt like all of two years ago, falling down that _damnable_ air gap and finding the tunnel that the thieves had carved into the mountain. He remembered facing the man with the scar on his face, remembered the fear as the man had threatened him, stalked him. Not one of the thieves had lived long enough to speak, but the one man with a scar had spoken of fearing another. Someone else had left him afraid. That meant there had been others.

Thorin let out a growl and turned to Dwalin. “Take a group back out into Mirkwood, where the path was. See if you can find anything or anyone. Bring those you can back to Erebor, whether for healing, imprisonment, or burial.” Dwalin gave a sharp nod and left swiftly. To Legolas: “If you are amenable, they could use your help tracking.”

“I will,” Legolas said, and he slid out of the room as quietly as he’d entered it. Bilbo envied him, for a moment, being able to have a task to do. It wasn’t as if Thorin was going to give him one, that much was for certain.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Bilbo sighed. “Are you all right?” Thorin asked softly, no longer a commanding king but his husband, the man he’d stood beside for nearly ten years.

“No,” Bilbo whispered. “Thorin, she could’ve died, for all I know Saradoc and Prim and Drogo and their little Elodie _are_ dead-“

“You cannot think it,” Thorin said firmly. He turned Bilbo about to face him, both hands on his shoulders. He rested his forehead against Bilbo’s, and the familiar pressure was welcome and grounding. Bilbo leaned back, hands coming up to rest on his husband’s elbows. “You _cannot_ think it. If you lose hope now, they are lost. The thieves did not needlessly slaughter your cousins. Think of what Esmeralda said: they brought them in together. Why? If they were going to murder them, what was the point of keeping them together?”

Bilbo slowly breathed. In, out. “You think they’re alive,” he finally said.

“I have to,” Thorin said. “As do you.”

He was right: if he gave up now, they were as good as dead. He had to believe they were still alive, that they were still out there, that the thieves had taken them for…for what? What reason could they have for taking his cousins?

“They were thieves,” Bilbo said. He didn’t particularly want to bring up this point, but Thorin had to be thinking it, the same as he was. “Men and dwarves. As much as I would rather you completely forget what happened just two years ago-“

“If these thieves were part of those who tunneled into Erebor and threatened you, then this will be a mixed blessing,” Thorin said. He pressed a swift kiss to Bilbo’s forehead and headed for the door.

“Blessing?” Bilbo asked, confused.

Thorin glanced back at him, halfway out the door. “Yes. Because when I find them, I will _finally_ get the answers and justice I have craved for two years. And, perhaps, the peace my heart needs.” He left, and Bilbo stood by himself in the council room for some time, gazing at nothing in particular. His mind took him back to the cavern that had long since been sealed off from both the Treasury and the outside world. He could see the man reaching for him, could all but feel his breath on his face. The knife lunge, the blood that had poured out after the man had fallen on his own blade.

He shut his eyes, breathed in deeply once, twice, then let it out. If they were thieves, and they’d known about those traveling, they wouldn’t want anything that Primula or Drogo had on them. Wealthy hobbits though they were, their wealth wasn’t in treasure, but in a good life. If they’d rounded them up to keep them alive, then perhaps…

Perhaps there was a reason they’d taken only the hobbits prisoner. Perhaps they were still thieves, looking for treasure.

Bilbo clenched his fists. “A ransom,” he murmured. Thorin might not have thought about it yet, given how determined he was to find those responsible for his destruction of peace two years ago, the reason he followed Bilbo at every given opportunity, the reason he feared for his husband’s life. If he could tell Thorin…

Later. Not now. Let Dwalin see if he could find anyone left alive. Bilbo had a cousin to see.

  
  


He was late, and no two ways about it. But Bombur had hurried for the kitchen first, after they'd heard the news about Bilbo's cousin, and Bofur had followed after him like a dunce. Then he’d wondered where everyone was, before realizing that everyone else was upstairs in one of the small rooms, and Bofur had turned and run. When he’d made it upstairs and found the room empty, he’d all but bumped into Dwalin, who’d told him they were heading down to the kitchen, where he’d been in the _first_ place. He’d taken off running, panting and desperately racing to catch up, taking one of the smaller hallways to beat them there.

So Bofur truly wasn’t looking where he was going as he hurried down the hallway, rounding the corner and bumping straight into someone. He tumbled to the floor, shaking his head ruefully. “Apologies,” he offered, pushing his hat back up onto his head. “Was in a bit of a rush-“

Then he caught sight of who he’d run into, and he stopped speaking.

Her hair was made of gold, and her lips looked like rubies. But her eyes, her eyes were wide and bright and beautiful, and he couldn’t tear himself away. She was the most beautiful being he’d ever laid eyes on, and Bofur thought to himself, _So this is what a stirred heart feels like._

Only when his name was called did Bofur pull himself from his stupor. “...is Bifur’s cousin,” Kili was saying. “Bofur couldn’t come to the Shire with us.”

Tauriel was glaring at him over the top of the maiden’s head from where she’d caught her from falling, sparing her Bofur's fate. “He usually is not as clumsy as this,” the elf said with raised eyebrows.

“Tryin’ to find all of you, I think,” Bofur said. It was hard to think of anything besides the woman before him. Now that he was standing, he could see that she was shorter than he was by a small bit. Her little upturned nose was almost more than he could stand, and if he didn’t focus on someone else and quickly, he was going to make even more of a fool of himself. “Bofur, at your service,” and he gave a bow.

The woman offered a quick, small smile and nodded her head. “Esmeralda,” she said, and Bofur knew that name. Bilbo’s cousin, but what did it matter, when her voice was so light and harmonious? Though sad-sounding, and that just wasn’t right.

Now that he could see everyone’s faces, none of them looked pleased, and Bofur suddenly put two and two together. “Will you join us, in the kitchen?” Dis asked, and she led the group forward. Bofur managed to nod as the company led Esmeralda on towards where Bombur was sure to have a small feast going. He stood still in the hallway for a long moment and couldn’t help but watch her feet – small and furry – as they walked onward. They looked to be dabbed with healing paste, and Bofur felt his heart clench.

“Bofur? Are you all right?”

Bofur turned as Bilbo came up from behind him. Glancing towards the kitchens, he found the group mostly down the hallway by now. “Just startled,” Bofur said. That was true enough. “You all right, laddie?”

Bilbo let out a sigh, and he looked so tired and lost that Bofur couldn’t help but throw an arm around him. “She seemed all right,” Bofur offered. More than all right to him, but from what little he’d heard, Bilbo’s kin had been under attack; now wasn’t the time to be fancying someone. He didn’t need more than his brain to tell him that there was only one hobbit cousin with the group, and he hesitated to ask where the others were.

“She is, and I’m grateful for it,” Bilbo admitted. He bit at his lower lip, which already looked thoroughly bruised from previous abuse. Terrible habit to bite one's lip, but no one'd been able to break Bilbo of it, the nervous habit that it was. “I wish I knew enough to say the same for my other cousins.”

So they weren’t here in Erebor. Bofur nodded and squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder in an attempt of cheer. “Well, I’ve never met a hobbit who didn’t feel a little better about life after a meal, and Bombur’s been down there for a bit. Shall we?”

Bilbo gave him a tired smile. “We shall,” he said. “I think a meal would be just what we could use.”

“Might help your cousin, too,” Bofur said. Perhaps he could learn more about her. Perhaps even enough to craft her something. He wasn’t as swift at forging as other dwarves, but hobbits appreciated things made of wood, and Bofur was a proud whittler and toymaker.

Mahal, he couldn’t believe he was already thinking about making her something. His brother would never let him hear the end of it.

“If anyone could cheer her up, it’d be you,” Bilbo said, and Bofur gave a quick grin at the compliment. “She could use it. She…she watched the dwarven guards fall.”

Bofur could feel his smile melting away. “And…your cousins?” he asked, when Bilbo didn’t continue.

Bilbo swallowed hard. “She said Saradoc fell, but he could still be all right. I hope so.”

The name didn’t sound familiar. “Saradoc…?”

“Brandybuck. Esmeralda’s husband.”

Well. That figured. He pushed his own thoughts away for a later time. “I hope he’s all right, too. Hard to lose the love of your life.” Perhaps he could carve her something, still, something to brighten her day. Maybe a flower, or a sun. The things a hobbit loved. Something to make her smile.

“I think it was more an agreed upon marriage,” Bilbo said. His feet made not a sound as they continued after the others, their pace slow and languid so as to continue conversing. “He’ll be Master of Buckland, one day. That’s one of the people the hobbits look to for guidance and to settle disputes.”

“Your king, then?”

“Close enough, I suppose. Bard’s position in Lake-town and Dale would be closer. Though he’s all but king except in official title; they’ve addressed him as ‘my liege’ and ‘your majesty’ for years.” Bilbo snorted. “He’s just going to have to accept that, eventually.”

Never failed to amuse: a man who wasn’t king but was. Bard would insist he wasn’t, he was good enough with ‘Lord’, but then he’d go and do kingly things and be diplomatic and wise and they’d start right back up with the majesty talk. Bilbo kept encouraging him to put a large seat at the end of the largest hall in town, call it a throne, forge himself a crown, and be done with it. His people weren’t going to be happy with him until he was. “Got to give him credit for holdin’ out the way he has,” Bofur pointed out. “Most men would take the power without thought.” Bard had earned a crown, Bofur thought.

“He’d make a good king,” Bilbo agreed. They paused at the doors to the kitchen and Bofur watched the weariness slide back into his face. “Though being a royal leader is hard.”

“Being married to one’s not easy, either,” Bofur said gently. “Puts you in the middle of everythin’. I’m friend’s with one, y’know, and let me tell you, it’s a hard life.”

Bilbo gazed at him for a long moment, then finally began to chuckle. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I feel as though I never say it enough, but you’re one of my dearest friends. I expect I wouldn’t have made it as far as I did on the journey without your friendship and cheer.”

The heat in his face had to be visible, it felt so fiery hot. He rubbed at the back of his head, trying to find words to answer. Thankfully, Bilbo took pity on him and opened the doors into the kitchen instead.

The kitchen was warm and just as alive as it would be in a few short hours for breakfast. Bombur was moving this way and that between various pots and pans. He was in his element, never happier than he was in the kitchen, and he was very good at it. A few dwarves every year would follow him around to learn the art of cooking, and Bombur had about rolled over in shock when it had first happened, after Erebor had been settled. Now, now he was used to it, and he puffed up in pride whenever someone mentioned his students.

But now, in the middle of the night, it was just Bombur running everything, and he was doing a fine job indeed. Biscuits and tea were already on the table – a hobbit staple if ever Bofur knew of one – and Bombur was making a soup that smelled of vegetables and a hint of roast. Bread was cooling on the wires, and of course Bombur had pulled out a cold dough to finish baking instead of catching one of the loaves he’d made but yesterday. There was a gravy on, from the smell of it, to go with the bread, and Bofur inhaled the sharp aroma of mushrooms from somewhere. Probably stuffed mushrooms with cheese and eggs, no doubt. One of Bilbo’s favorite dishes.

Bilbo had stopped, too, at the aroma, and had shot a fond smile in Bombur’s direction. Bombur nodded towards the table: a clear indication that food was near to served. He chose a spot near his cousin, and that left the only clear seat on the bench…directly across from Esmeralda. Of course it did. Bofur took in a deep breath, squared his shoulders as if going to battle, and sat down between Kili and Dernwyn. He managed to focus on the cup of tea Dis sent down his way for all of a minute before he braced himself and looked up.

Nope, still as beautiful as she had been before. Even with her red-rimmed eyes and the bruised fingers, she was still the most beautiful being he’d ever seen. And married.

He almost hoped for Saradoc to arrive in Erebor immediately, if just to see how she looked with a real smile on her face. Mahal but it had to be a thing of unequal splendor.

His eyes landed on her fingers once more and he frowned. “Oin, you have any miner’s ointment?” he asked.

Oin raised his ear horn from where he sat down towards Dis and Legolas. “Eh?” he shouted.

Bofur shook his head and waved the healer off, already digging in his pockets. “His hearing’s dreadful,” Kili explained to Esmeralda as she blinked in confusion. “But Bofur’s right, that might help.”

“Here,” Bofur said after a moment, pulling his small jar of ointment free. He handed it to Dernwyn, who only raised an eyebrow at him. “For her fingers,” he said, when his niece still didn’t take it.

“Yes…?” Dernwyn said, obviously confused as to why he was offering it to her, especially when the person who needed it was right in front of him. He glanced at Kili in hopes he would get help that way, but Kili was already talking to someone else. He bit his lip and turned his attention back to Esmeralda. She was looking to him in askance, and he hoped the heat rising in his cheeks this time would be hidden under the shade of his hat.

There was no helping it, he supposed. “If I could,” he said softly, pulling the cork from the jar. She moved her hands across the table without hesitation, and Bofur focused on his task. Remove ointment from jar, warm ointment by rubbing between hands, apply to hands.

Except as soon as he touched her hands, oh her hands. They were soft and small, but there were calluses formed along the edges of her fingers, as if she worked at handcrafts, or possibly in a garden. He could see her in a garden, digging in the dirt, growing flowers and vegetables with a smile on her face.

He managed to finish her hands and then pushed the jar in her direction. “I couldn’t-“

“I’ve plenty more, believe me,” he assured her. “I work with my hands a lot; we miners are never without ‘em. Mining tear the hands up right quick. If you need more, just, ah, let me know. Or Bifur, Bifur could tell me too,” he said quickly, but Esmeralda already had the jar in hand.

“Thank you, Mister Bofur,” she said, and he gave a quick nod. He wanted to give her just his name, if just to ease the formality, but he kept his tongue instead. He settled for drinking large gulps of tea and ignoring how it burned on his tongue. It kept him from talking.

Bombur, thankfully, brought the food over not much later, and Esmeralda gazed with wide eyes at the numerous plates. The mushrooms were set all but in front of Bilbo, and Bilbo patted Bombur on the arm with thanks. Esmeralda wasn’t the only hobbit in need of comfort. The food smells wafted high into the air, and the aroma was so warm and delicious Bofur wanted to wrap it around him like a blanket. Hobbits, he thought as he filled a bowl with the stew, had it right when it came to food being a comfort necessity.

“You didn’t have to do all of this for me,” Esmeralda insisted, though she was already pulling a chunk of bread from one of the hot loaves. “Truly, you didn’t, Mister Bombur.”

“Like cooking,” Bombur said with an easy shrug. “Would’ve been in here anyway, for the feast. Had to get the ovens warmed.”

Bofur managed to not choke on his soup. Everyone else had stopped what they were doing. “Oh Mahal, the feast,” Fili said. He glanced at Dernwyn, who looked just as stunned as he. “It’s _tomorrow_.”

“Today, actually,” Dori said from further down the table. “It’s early morning, but still morning.”

The hobbits were supposed to have arrived today. Kings and Queens and allies old were all coming, _today_ , and the feast was this evening, _this evening_. It was supposed to have been a joyous event, filled with food and happiness and peace.

Bilbo looked completely put off from eating. “What do we do?” Gimli asked. “We can’t just _celebrate_.”

“Yes we can,” Thorin said, and Bofur turned as the king stepped into the kitchen. He wasn’t dressed much as a king, with only a plain tunic and breeches on, his hair not even done up in his royal daily braids. But every inch of him still stood tall as a king, and when he spoke, everyone listened. “Until we know more, we need to continue as we had planned. The less worry we spread, the better we will be.”

“Agreed,” Bilbo said, surprising Bofur. His friend gave a small smile. “We’re celebrating the last ten years. We’ll toast the future and keep our worry to the present.”

Thorin nodded, and Bofur could see the relief in his gaze. Never failed to catch his attention, the way he could go from Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, to Thorin, husband of Bilbo Baggins. Thorin caught a stool to sit on so he could rest beside Bilbo. If the Council saw it, Bofur thought with a grin, they would have a fit: their king, sitting on a _stool_. Not that Thorin cared.

Fili leaned over the table a bit to send his uncle a wry look. “Would you rather a throne, _your majesty_?” he asked with a drawl. Thorin sent him a baleful look.

“I hear enough of that phrase from the Council; leave me in peace, _your highness_.”

Fili grumbled but settled back. Bofur shot him a quick wink of approval, then coughed when Dernwyn elegantly and swiftly elbowed him in the side. “You were thinkin’ it too,” he accused under his breath.

Dernwyn didn’t reply, but she made a face. Triumphantly, Bofur turned back to his food. All around the table, talk was being cast aside for eating, and he was glad to see that Bilbo had finally begun eating again, sharing mushrooms with Thorin. He had half an idea that Thorin was merely eating to ensure _Bilbo_ ate. Disgustingly cute, the both of them.

Except now he was part of that group of ‘disgustingly cute’. It wasn’t that he’d never seen a pretty face before, for he’d seen plenty, even a few that had caught his eye and made him wonder. But he’d never felt this drawn to someone before. She’d caught his eyes with her beauty, but every moment he sat before her, he wanted to know more, to sit beside her and listen to her talk. He wanted to see her smile, and he would’ve done anything to make it happen.

It wasn’t his place, though. She was wed, her heart pledged. It would be his luck: to find someone his heart yearned to know more of, and to find her already taken.

Well, nothing to be done for it. He found himself wishing he’d gone to the Shire with them, when Bilbo and Thorin had been married. He could have met her then, when she hadn’t been wed. He would have most certainly asked for her hand. He was a miner, who delved in the deep, looking for the shine of gold, gems, or mithril. He’d compared her when he’d first seen her to precious metals and jewels, but now, now he knew those were wrong. She was like sunshine, and every part of her, save for her smile, shone.

Perhaps he was in the wrong profession, digging in the dark, looking for the shine that was outside above him.

“You all right?”

Kili’s voice was far quieter than anyone else could hear, but he knew Tauriel was watching them, and he knew he’d caught Dernwyn’s attention. His spoon was in his hand, and his soup all but abandoned. “Fine,” he lied. “Just, ah, thinkin’ about the celebration. That’s all.”

He was met with an incredulous gaze, one he deserved, but thankfully Kili didn’t ask again. He slurped down another spoonful of soup to seem engaged and found it all but cold. He gulped it down anyway and went on to the bread and gravy.

Soon, there’d be guests arriving and the mountain would awaken and things would go on as if there hadn’t been an attack on Bilbo’s kin. He wondered if those arriving would also have tales to tell of attackers as they came to Erebor. He hoped not. He hoped that Dwalin and the others would find Bilbo’s cousins. He hoped Esmeralda would smile and Bilbo would start eating without Thorin’s prompting.

He hoped for a lot of things. But someone had to.


	3. Friends of old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familiar faces grace Erebor by entering on their own, while one is carried in to be laid to rest.
> 
> And once the story is told, quick decisions are made by everyone.

The sound of hooves echoed like thunder through the air. On and on they had ridden, many days filled with the occasional cloud and storm. Now, however, the day was bright and full of sunshine, and the fields before them the greenest fields ever to be seen. Yes, it was quite obvious that a hobbit had had a hand in working the earth here.

It made him smile, to think of his small friend. It seemed all things did heal, with time.

The long haired man in front came to a stop, but waved them onward when they went to do the same. “I have business to attend to, in my city,” he said. “I will see you again this evening, at the feast. Don’t wait for me.”

“A king’s work is never truly over; of this I know well. It suits you well, Bard.”

Bard gave a toss of his head. “I’m no king; I am only a lord, and by given title at that, by nothing I earned or did. I was content as a bowman. But someone must help to lead the people when they need aid.”

“I was told once by a dear friend, now long gone, that one does not decide to be a king, but rather is chosen to be one.” He thought of his own crown that he wore every day; the slim circlet he wore now as he traveled was like air, and often he forget he even wore it. Never did he forget he was king, though, or of the words Thengel had spoken to him. “Your people love you; I had only to pass through the city for evidence of that. You are a good man, and make for a good king. You are already holding the duties. You may as well hold the crown.”

He received a grin for his words. “You sound like Bilbo,” Bard told him. “He tells me the same thing.”

“If I were you, I’d listen to him: a hobbit is a wise being indeed, and not one to be trifled with.” He gave a nod to Bard, then urged his horse forward. His men followed after him, and they raced across the short distance from Dale to Erebor.

And when they reached the gates, Aragorn truly smiled.

  
  


It almost felt wrong, to be so cheerful in the wake of what had happened just the night before. But Esmeralda was resting at last, and the guests had begun to arrive. The spirits were high in Erebor, dwarves welcoming those visiting, and laughter rang everywhere.

Then Dernwyn spotted the horses she had long waited for, and she raced over without a care as if she were a young girl again. “Morwen, Morwen!” she shouted, and the woman looked up, smile widening at the sight of Dernwyn. Beside her on horses were two young men and a young woman, but Dernwyn would have known them anywhere. Ten years couldn’t change their faces that much.

Or their temperaments. “Dernwyn!” Théodwyn shouted, and she scrambled off her horse, her brother quick to follow her. Éomund sat upon his horse, calm and too mature for the acts of Morwen’s children, but his grin was far too wide and troublesome to be anything but childish. Morwen was sliding off her own horse, taking her time in order to allow her children the chance to reach Dernwyn first.

Théodwyn and Théoden all but knocked her over with their embraces, laughing all the while. “It’s so good to see you!” Théodwyn gushed. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for today like you wouldn’t believe. It took so _long_ to travel, I don’t know how you could stand it!”

“A dwarf helped, perhaps,” Théoden said with a wink, and Dernwyn scowled at him, giving his arm a light smack. He chuckled then and hugged her once more. “We’ve missed you,” he said, quieter this time.

“And I’ve missed you,” she said in reply. Théodwyn was grown, a woman of twenty-two years now, and by the way Éomund was watching her, Dernwyn wouldn’t be surprised if there was a marriage proposal in the works, if he hadn’t asked for her hand already. Théoden was a man, in the eyes of the Rohirrim, eighteen years and capable of joining the Riders if he felt called to do so. _Thengel, your children have grown into beautiful beings,_ she thought for just one moment, and wondered if he would have thought the same of her.

Morwen was there, then, and wrapping her arms around Dernwyn. It felt like a breath of home, so startlingly sharp that it nearly brought tears to her eyes. “It is good to see you,” Morwen said, echoing her daughter’s earlier statement. “The last time I saw you, you were taking hands with Fili. And I hear I have little ones to spoil.”

Théodwyn and Théoden looked just as excited. Dernwyn couldn’t help but laugh at their happy faces. “Let’s have you off the horses for a bit,” she said. “We’ll retire to the private chambers. Then you can meet Holdred and Hildili.” After last night, the agreement had been made: the little ones were to be kept as far from any potential dangerous situation, including the open gates, as possible. She’d nearly lost her children two years ago: Dernwyn was taking no chances.

Éomund came over after leaving his horse in the care of a dwarf. “Ornamental decoration?” he asked, half joking, with a nod to her sword. With her royal gown, it actually didn’t look that much out of place, but the implications were obvious. One didn’t wear a blade unless there could be a reason for it, especially on a day that was supposed to hold celebrations.

Dernwyn hesitated a bit too long in her answer, and immediately Morwen’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?” she asked, pitching her voice low. Her children crowded near, wearing equally worried faces.

“I’ll tell you upstairs,” Dernwyn replied. “Come; the others are waiting to greet you. I know Bilbo could use a friendly face right now.” She turned and led them up the stairs through the great main hall, allowing them only a little time to stare in awe at the splendor that was Erebor. They would have a tour later: telling them now was much more important. She felt a twinge of guilt in her gut at the thought that they had been laughing and cheerful just moments before. Now they were all quiet as they passed dwarves up to the royal chambers.

Once in the hallway, she could hear the voices of the company ahead in the main room. “Your guest rooms aren’t far,” she began, but Morwen shook her head.

“Show us later, my Dernwyn. For now, tell us what’s going on.”

“Foul deeds,” Fili said, coming to meet them in the hall. He gave a sharp grin upon seeing Théodwyn and Théoden. “Didn’t I tell you that you’d wind up taller than me?” he said to the young prince.

Théoden gave a grin of his own. “You did, and you were right. You can’t be any higher than my shoulder!”

“And yet Théoden only comes to my nose,” Éomund said. Théoden tossed a baleful look over his shoulder at the other man, and Éomund chuckled.

“I think that would put me somewhere around your hip,” Fili joked, but when he gave a hearty embrace to them all, he came up to Éomund’s chest just fine. Dernwyn smiled: Fulgram had been a tall man indeed, even by Rohirrim standards. It was just another sign of Éomund’s parentage. He looked so much like his father now that, for a moment, Dernwyn was almost glad she wouldn’t see much of Théoden throughout her life. She had a feeling that when he began to grow a beard, he would look far too much like his father, and it would be more than her heart could bear.

They led the travelers into the main room, where the company was indeed gathered. Bofur received jovial greetings from them, as did Kili, who quickly swept Théoden and Théodwyn off their feet as if they were children again, despite the fact that both were taller than he was. From the corner, Dernwyn could see two pairs of curious eyes all but hiding behind Bilbo and his chair, and then it was just behind the chair as Bilbo left them to come greet the others. Dernwyn grinned but let them be for a time: eventually Hildili’s curiosity would get the better of her, and where Hildili went, so too did Holdred. It was only a matter of time.

“Bilbo!” Théodwyn called, and she was the first to wrap the hobbit in a warm embrace. Bilbo finally smiled and quickly embraced Éomund and Théoden as well. When he reached Morwen, he gave the back of her hand a kiss. She laughed, tears in her eyes, and held him tightly. His horse pendant hung from his neck, alongside two dwarven beads, and while it usually hung from a peg in his chambers, Dernwyn supposed today was the best day to wear it. They clanked gently against his pin when he stepped back.

“We hear there is something amiss,” Morwen said when they had parted. She glanced around the room, and it was obvious now that while she was kind and growing older, she was clearly one who held power and knew it. With her very words she seemed to hold herself taller, yet her gaze was warm and filled with understanding. “What has happened?”

“An attack was made last night on Bilbo’s kin,” Kili said. Théodwyn immediately moved to Bilbo’s side, resting a hand on his shoulder. Bilbo gave a small smile of gratitude at the offer of support. “One escaped and is resting just down the hall. We…don’t know about the others, yet. But Dwalin and Legolas have gone into the forest to see. They should be back soon.”

The room fell silent. Only the fire crackled, louder now without voices to muffle its sound. Bofur cleared his throat. “You’ve not met Lili and Holdred,” he said, and the others looked up, grateful for a change of topic. “Cutest little things you’ve ever seen, that’s to be sure.”

“Lili, Holdred,” Dernwyn called when the children were slow to coming out. “Just like you have a brother and a sister, this is my sister and my brothers.” They had been, for many years. Even now, the urge to protect them from the horrible news of last night ran in her veins. They were not children anymore, however, and none of them would appreciate her treating them as such.

Hildili, predictably, came forward first, leaving Holdred no choice but to follow. “Hello,” she said, hesitant in everything but voice. Always a confident speaker, her child. “Are you here for the party?”

“Yes we are,” Morwen said, kneeling in front of her. Hildili gave her a positively brilliant smile, and Morwen was hard pressed not to return it. “My name is Morwen; what is your name?”

“Hildili, but everyone just calls me Lili,” Hildili said. She rocked back on her heels, hands tucked behind her back. “You can call me Lili.”

Holdred moved forward then, giving a small bow. “Holdred, at your service.” Then he ruined the very grown-up response by asking, “My Mama said we could have biscuits after you got here. Do you want a biscuit?”

“Oh, he’s certainly your son, there’s no doubt there,” Morwen said fondly. Dernwyn felt her face blush all the way to the tips of her ears. “Fili’s, too, I can see that.” To Holdred she spoke: “It is a welcome day indeed that I _finally_ get to meet the both of you. I have waited a long time for this, hearing of you only through letters. Dernwyn, you didn’t tell me how tall and strong they were!”

The words made Holdred and Hildili both puff up in pride to try and stand taller than the other. Unfortunately for Hildili, Holdred had two years on her, and always would. Still, she pushed herself up onto her tiptoes, leaving Holdred scowling at her and trying to go taller still. “Yes, because if I had, _this_ would be what would’ve happened,” Dernwyn said dryly. Fili snorted and nudged her gently in the side. As if he wasn’t aware of where they’d gotten it from. All one had to do was watch Kili and Fili for a mere ten minutes and it would be very obvious.

Théodwyn looked enthralled with them both, and even Éomund looked close to kneeling so he could play with them. They all turned, however, when the door opened, and Dril came in. “Begging your pardons,” he said, panting slightly for breath, “but the Captain’s returned. You’re needed, m’liege.” He looked only to Bilbo.

Bilbo went pale at the implications. “I would go with you, if you’d let me,” Éomund said. “Please, Bilbo,” when the hobbit began to protest.

There wasn’t a single one of them who didn’t want to go with him, because Dernwyn knew that the news wouldn’t be good. If Bilbo was needed, it involved his cousins. The grim look on Dril’s face spoke volumes. “Then you can come,” Bilbo finally said, “though I think you’d enjoy yourself a lot more up here with Holdred and Hildili.”

“I think we can keep the little ones company,” Morwen said. Théodwyn nodded, reaching to take Hildili’s hand. Lili took it without any hesitation, smiling up at the young woman. Holdred had no reservations after that, but he glanced back at Dernwyn all the same. Dernwyn nodded with a warm smile, and her son finally went off with Théodwyn and Morwen, back to the corner they’d been playing in. Hildili was already talking a mile a minute, speaking of the colors Holdred let her borrow and things she drew and adventures she had with her little dragon.

Dril remained by the door. “By the stable,” he said quietly when Bilbo went out. Bilbo squared his shoulders and nodded, then left, Éomund a tall shadow behind him. “Rest of everyone’s meetin’ in the Council Chambers,” he added to the others, and Dernwyn glanced at her husband. Fili pursed his lips but nodded.

She hated to leave Bilbo to what would obviously end in grief. But he had Éomund, and she had a good idea that Dwalin and Legolas would not leave him alone, either. Thorin would most certainly be there. Best to wait for them in the meeting hall, then. All the better to discuss tactics.

For if someone had truly done more than just injure Bilbo’s kin, someone was going to pay. Injuring them would cost you in battle, but killing them? It was tantamount to starting a war. And while Dernwyn wasn’t a betting woman, she would’ve placed every gold coin she could’ve on her kin and friends.

No one got away with hurting their own.

  
  


Thorin alone got to see Bilbo’s face change, as he came down the stairs to the stable and saw the stretcher that was laid upon the ground. Dwalin and Legolas were standing guard over the small, white, shrouded figure, and a tall young man followed behind Bilbo. So when Bilbo’s face went even paler still, mouth parting in a small ‘o’ of pain, only Thorin bore witness to it.

When he stepped into the stable, however, everyone came to attention. “Go,” Thorin ordered, and the other guards left, until it was only five that remained by the horses. The stretcher rested near the doors of the stable, away from the horses lest they spook.

Horses didn’t do well with the dead.

Bilbo slowly moved forward towards the stretcher, eyes locked on the figure covered in white linens. The young man behind Bilbo came to a stop behind Thorin, and for half a moment, Thorin thought him to be a ghost. Then the features of a younger, other familiar face slid into place, and Thorin remembered. “Éomund,” he said at last. The young man smiled.

“When they said dwarves have long memories, they weren’t telling tall tales.” The man brushed his longer, dirty blonde hair back from his face. “It’s good to see you again, your majesty.”

“We are friends, Éomund,” Thorin reminded him. “I need no title from you.” He still looked so much like Fulgram that it startled Thorin.

Éomund gave a quick nod. “Thorin, then. Thank you.” He glanced over at Bilbo and pursed his lips. “This wasn’t how I hoped we’d come to Erebor,” he said quietly. “Luck doesn’t seem to favor him. All these years later, and still.”

And still. Thorin found himself watching his husband as Bilbo knelt by the ground. Dwalin backed away, as did Legolas, though the Captain did venture a question. “Do you want Esmeralda-“

“No,” Bilbo said shortly, his eyes begging forgiveness where his voice offered none. “She doesn’t need to see anymore. Later, if she asks, but…no. I’ll do it.” He took in a deep breath and lifted the top of the linen away.

Curls were the first thing Thorin saw. The color was so much like Bilbo’s that Thorin stopped breathing until he gazed at the face. The features were still and pale in death, and a deep wound across the forehead was dark and vicious looking. The death had been a swift one, though he wasn’t certain it was any consolation to Bilbo.

Bilbo stared at the face of his kin for a very long time before his eyes finally fluttered shut. His lips moved, but his words were silent, and after a moment, he grasped the edges of the cloth and carefully lifted it back over the head. He was painstakingly gentle as he laid the fabric down upon the body, and Thorin felt his throat clog with emotion at the sight. It was a practiced move, remembered. Thorin could imagine well how Bilbo would have done the same for both his father and his mother, and it made him want to take his husband in his arms and just hold him. He looked young, far too young.

When Bilbo stood at last, however, and pinched at his nose, eyes shutting tight, he looked older than Thorin had ever seen him. That was enough waiting. He crossed over to Bilbo and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in even as Bilbo stumbled. Frowning, Thorin glanced down and found Bilbo the same type of pale he’d been for the past several weeks. “You’re still ill,” he said, glaring at him with no heat. “And you insisted on not resting.”

“I’m fine,” Bilbo said wearily, waving him off. “Dwalin, the others-“

“The remains of the guards were untouched, bodies still there,” Dwalin reported. “We brought ‘em back. They’ll be buried with honor.”

Thorin nodded, glancing at Legolas. The elf was staring out at Mirkwood with a pensive look. “Legolas?”

“They went no farther towards Erebor,” Legolas said. “What little traces of them I found suggested they went west. We found no remnants of a further battle. There were no bodies save for this one and the dwarves. I do not know him.”

“It’s Saradoc,” Bilbo said softly. His voice was nearly lost to the wind outside the stable doors. “Esmeralda’s husband. They’d…they’d only been married for a few months. It was an arranged marriage, yes, but they were still fond of each other, still friends.” He swallowed. “I can’t…I can’t tell her.”

“Let it be until after the feast,” Thorin said. “We’ll tell her then.” Then she could pay respects to her husband, and Thorin would see to it that he would be laid to rest in whatever fashion she wanted.

Bilbo nodded slowly. “Are the others waiting within?” Legolas asked.

“In the Council Chambers,” Thorin told him, and Legolas, after ensuring Dwalin would need no help with the body, left. Éomund stood, torn, until Thorin nodded on towards the door after the elf.

“Go on,” Bilbo said to the young man. “We’ll meet you there soon enough.” After a moment, Éomund turned and left, hurrying to catch up with the elf. Thorin watched him go, the movements reminding him of a young Ranger he had journeyed with. Éomund could be no more than twenty-five years; so young, yet still so courageous.

“He’s a good boy,” Bilbo said softly. “And I sound terribly old when I say that, don’t I?”

“Not old at all,” Thorin murmured. Bilbo was still so young, even in hobbit years, as far as Thorin was concerned. He moved his gaze back to the shrouded body of Saradoc. “What must we do for a hobbit funeral?” he asked.

Bilbo shook his head. “He has a plot, next to where his parents will be buried, off in Buckland.”

The thought had never occurred to Thorin. “Do you have a plot?” he asked.

Bilbo nodded absently, completely missing the pained look on Thorin’s face. Dwalin shot him a look of sympathy over Bilbo’s head, and Thorin swallowed. As if he needed more reasons to think of and imagine Bilbo’s death.

“What can we do?” Dwalin asked quietly.

The gruff but kind voice pulled Bilbo out of his thoughts, and he finally raised his gaze from Saradoc’s body. “Close family bears him to his resting place. But a great many hobbits fear small spaces. If you can imagine that,” he mumbled, and Thorin pulled him in closer. Bilbo took in a deep breath. “So many prefer to be burnt upon a pyre instead, and their ashes scattered to the wind and back to the Mother. I don’t know how Saradoc felt about it, or what he’d decided.”

“Would Esmeralda be within rights to make that decision?”

“Yes, she would.”

Then she would decide. “Dwalin,” Thorin said, and his friend moved to take the stretcher.

“I should, I can do that,” Bilbo began, but Dwalin shrugged him off.

“He’s not heavy, and you’re carryin’ enough, what with worryin’ about Esse and the others.” Dwalin jerked his head, and the guards who had been standing at attention inside the stables came in. Reverently they raised the stretcher and carried it off to one of the side entrances. The less the people of Erebor worried about for the time being, the better. Soon, Thorin would be forced to tell them. But until he had news to take to them, there was no point in frightening them.

Because Bilbo belonged to Erebor and its people. After the assassination attempt, the residents of Erebor had become increasingly protective of him. They would not do well with the news of his kin having been slaughtered.

Bilbo was gazing after Dwalin as the dwarf left with Saradoc. “Beloved,” Thorin murmured, and Bilbo shut his eyes, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. There was so little Thorin could do in the wake of losing a loved one. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Bilbo’s curls and let his husband grieve soundlessly for as long as he could. After a moment, though, he was forced to pull away. The others were waiting for an answer.

Bilbo sniffled and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “We need to get to the others,” he said. “The Council Chambers, was that what you said?”

“You do not have to-“

“I’m going to help you not be incredibly stupid,” Bilbo cut in, putting his hands up, “and I’m going to stop you from finishing that sentence. The Council Chambers?”

Thorin sighed. “I do not want to see you in more pain,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”

Bilbo gazed up at him before taking his hand. “There’s nothing you can do for that,” he said, voice nearly lost under the sounds of the stable and the wind brushing past the door. “The only thing you _can_ do is be here for me, and I have to tell you, you’re doing a marvelous job of that. So just…keep doing that. It helps.”

In response, Thorin gripped his husband’s hand tighter still. Bilbo had told him once, many years ago, that it was Thorin’s touch that grounded him, Thorin’s touch that soothed. It wasn’t something that Thorin took lightly. If it helped Bilbo, if it brought his husband peace, he would do it. There was nothing Thorin would not do to keep Bilbo safe.

They left the stable, hand in hand.

  
  


By the time Dwalin reached the Council room, it was near to bursting. The company was there, along with the elves, and Éomund from the Rohirrim stood near Dernwyn. Bilbo sat, along with Balin; the rest of the company appeared too restless to take a seat. Thorin stood directly behind his husband’s chair, fingers clenched tightly into the stone. Suddenly missing his husband, Dwalin moved swiftly over to Ori, where the scribe was standing beside Nori. Ori immediately wrapped his arms around him, and Dwalin let himself breathe in the smell of books and ink. He’d grown up with that scent, with Balin pouring over documents every day, but with Ori it was different somehow. It was still home, though. And right now, after what he’d seen, he needed a touch of home.

The mood turned somber enough once everyone had gathered around the table. “Start from the beginning,” Fili said as soon as he was settled beside Ori. The others quieted down. Bilbo looked pale and weary, eyes fixed on the table, waiting for the inevitable. Dwalin clutched his fists by his side, wishing he hadn’t been the one to put that look on his friend’s face.

Legolas sighed but spoke. “We found the scene of battle not far into Mirkwood, perhaps half a day’s journey at most, nearly at the border. All of the dwarven guards had been killed, but they had not been disturbed. They had been stripped of their weapons and other small things, such as any gold or precious gems they may have carried.”

“Thieves,” Gimli growled. “Thieves sure enough. Tell me once more why we didn’t run ‘em down two years ago, when they threatened Bilbo?”

“We did,” Thorin said tightly. Bilbo started at that, glancing behind him at his husband in surprise.

“You did? You didn’t tell me.”

Dwalin cut in. “You were worried enough. We searched high and low for any sign of thieves, sent messengers out to the nearby dwellings, got nothin’. We’ve kept a eye and ear open for ‘em, though.” It rankled that for all of their hard work, for everything they’d fought for, they’d still failed Bilbo and his kin when it had mattered. The thought of little Esse now a widow tore at something in his soul. Mahal, his blades were begging for a taste of vengeance for her sake and Bilbo’s.

“Next time, tell me,” Bilbo said firmly. “I don’t care if you think my heart’s about to give out: if it concerns Erebor or any of you, I want to know.”

“I think we would all feel a great deal better if your heart did _not_ give out, my friend.”

All heads whipped to the doorway, where a shadowed figure stood. Still, Dwalin knew who it was, even before he stepped out of the dark doorway and into the torchlight. Even Bilbo perked up at the sight of the man. “Aragorn,” he said, giving a bright, truly happy smile. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” Aragorn said warmly. His face held more scruff now than before, and his hair was longer. Otherwise, the man appeared to have aged little in the past ten years. Dwalin had heard Aragorn referenced as one of the Dúnedain, and it was hard pressed to argue with that when faced with the man. “And you, my friend.”

When Aragorn moved his gaze up to Thorin, however, he looked troubled. “What is this talk of thieves?”

“You’re in time for the story,” Dwalin rumbled. “Two years ago, we found thieves tunnelin’ into Erebor, and one of ‘em had the misfortune of threatenin’ Bilbo. He didn’t live long. Yesterday, Bilbo’s travelin’ kin were caught in Mirkwood by thieves. One of his cousins escaped. The dwarves keepin’ the hobbits safe, my own guard, were killed.”

Aragorn moved to the table, eyes dark. “And the rest of his kin?” he asked.

“One was slain,” Legolas said quietly. “The others disappeared with the thieves. I do not know for what purpose.”

“Was it Saradoc?”

Again all heads whipped to the doorway. There stood Esmeralda, eyes shimmering with tears, her lips pursed together. “Was it?” she asked again. She clenched her fists until Dwalin could see her knuckles go white. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Esse,” Bilbo said helplessly, but Esmeralda shook her head.

“Don’t ‘Esse’ me. Was it him?”

“Yes,” Dwalin said. Bilbo swung a glare at him, but Esmeralda was past the point of being comforted. She wanted an answer, and Dwalin would give it to her. “He’s here, we brought him, and he’s resting in a place of honor.” It was typically the place to put royalty, where they were prepared for burial, but he hadn’t thought Thorin would mind. Thorin gave a sharp nod of approval.

Esmeralda looked to be nearly vibrating with tension, tears falling hot and fast down her cheeks. Dwalin moved from Ori’s side to hers, watching her try not to weep. “We’ll find the others, and we’ll wipe the thieves off the earth, lass,” he swore. “I promise you that.”

She gave a harsh nod, then looked to Bilbo. “Good. I won’t take long to get ready.”

“Ready?” Kili asked, bewildered. “For what?”

“To go with you,” she said. “You might be the ones to deliver the blow, but I want to see it happen.”

“Esse, _no_ -“

“I’ve got more of a stake in this then you do, cousin,” she said sharply at Bilbo’s protest. “And I’m going with them.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Bofur began to protest, but Thorin shook his head. Esmeralda looked hot under the collar and ready to burst, so Dwalin intervened before Thorin did something stupid like insist she stay behind.

“It’s a dangerous thing, Esse. There’s no promise you’ll come back either.”

“I’m not dense, Mister Dwalin. I can handle it.”

After that, well. The entire room sort of went into an uproar.

“We don’t even know where they are-“

“They could be waiting to ambush _us_ -“

“You’d leave us feeling a lot better if you stayed-“

“I cannot allow you to go-“

“That’s _enough_!” Bilbo shouted, startling everyone, including Thorin, cutting the king’s protest off mid-sentence. “That’s enough from everyone.” He pushed himself off of his seat and moved over to Esmeralda, who looked ready to tear into anyone that came before her. She would’ve made a beautiful guard here in Erebor. “Esmeralda, I’m telling you now, that if you go with us, you’ll be changed, and not wholly for the better. You’ll see more death than you’ve seen before and you’ll have to move on and bear it. You’ll have to run, you’ll have to hide, you’ll be frightened more than ever before in your life.”

Dwalin felt his insides tighten in a horrible way at the hobbit’s words. Was this what he’d taken from their journey, from his?

“But you told all those wonderful tales,” Esmeralda said with a frown. “About your adventures.”

Bilbo gave a half smile. “I did. And they’re still all true. I’m glad I went, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I had some of the best memories and experiences, going on that adventure, and found the greatest thing to ever happen to me while I did.” He glanced back at Thorin, who had also gone a bit pale at Bilbo’s terrible description of their adventures. “And I don’t regret it, not for a moment,” he said softly.

When he glanced back at Esmeralda, his smile fell. He took her hands in his, carefully rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. “But don’t go into this starry-eyed or worse, angry. It’s a dangerous business, going out your door. You never know where your feet will take you, or where fate will carry you. If you come with us, you need to know what you’ll face.”

Kili blinked. “Wait a minute, ‘us’? Uncle, you’re not going either.”

Bilbo slowly turned to pin Kili with one of his infamous, ‘You’re being stupid and I’m going to explain why,’ looks. Dwalin had gotten enough of them to know what they looked like. “Of course I’m going,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re staying here,” Thorin said. Bilbo glared at him. “I want you safe.”

“I want my kin to be here, safe and sound, without thieves on our doorstep,” Bilbo replied sharply. “Seems we don’t get what we want.”

Thorin’s nostrils flared, and thankfully, Dernwyn jumped in before an argument could start. “Why are we leaving in the first place? What would we be doing?”

“We’re trackin’ the thieves down, and gettin’ the others back,” Dwalin said. “If we start now, we’ve got a chance of findin’ the hobbits before they get too far ahead. A chance I don’t intend to waste or lose. So I’m goin’, and I don’t care who goes with me, but they best be ready when I am.” There. That effectively left him fairly innocent of whatever they were going to choose.

“I’m going,” Bilbo said before anyone could say otherwise. He gave Thorin a firm look. “And that’s final.”

Thorin looked ready to scream, but he finally took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy gust of air. “And I with you,” he said.

“We’re going too,” Fili said, nodding towards Kili. Kili bounced on the balls of his feet, as if ready to fight off a group of thieves right then and there. “We’re not being left behind.”

“Then who’ll guard the throne?” Gloin asked. “We can’t just leave it empty. The people’ll ask enough questions as it is.”

Dis sighed. “I will stay,” she said. Truthfully, she looked just as willing and ready to hoist an axe and do battle herself, but she stood down for the sake of her brother and sons. “I’ll lead Erebor.”

“Be better under your hands, anyway,” Dwalin noted, and she gave a grin.

The rest of the group quickly fell into order. Legolas and Tauriel couldn’t be dissuaded from going with them. When eyes fell to the Ri brothers, Ori wrapped his arm around Dwalin’s. “Don’t even think about leaving me behind,” Ori warned. “I’m not staying when you’re out there fighting off bandits and robbers. I’m going with you, and don’t argue with me about it.”

Truthfully, he hadn’t been about to. “I know,” Dwalin said, and Ori gave a quick smile.

“Dernwyn-“

“I want to go,” she said, cutting off Fili before he could even ask. She let out a sigh, though, and crossed her arms. “But I know I can’t. Not with Holdred and Hildili. I’ll stay.”

Dwalin wasn’t certain he’d ever seen Fili so relieved before. “Thank you,” he murmured, catching her elbows with his hands and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “ _Thank you_.”

“Don’t thank me, thank your children,” she groused good-naturedly. She still looked put out about not being able to go, but she’d made the better, wiser choice. Dwalin hadn’t expected anything less from her, though. Dernwyn had one of the most level-headed minds of them all besides Bilbo and Dis. She knew where her strength would be needed most. They couldn’t completely empty Erebor: someone had to stay. And with Erebor in the hands of Dis and Dernwyn, well, they'd all feel a lot better about the state of the mountain.

“I’ll stay with you,” Éomund said. “When the Queen and the others go back to Rohan, I’ll stay until everyone returns.”

Dernwyn gave him a smile while Fili shot him a look of gratitude. Just because he was leaving Dernwyn behind in Erebor didn’t mean Fili was going to feel any better about it. The dwarf would leave with an easier mind, knowing that she was safe and being watched over.

“I’m going,” Nori said, surprising Dwalin. “You all got a bit more fun than I did, last time ‘round.”

Ori rolled his eyes. “If by fun you meant we fought against wargs, orcs, trolls, and the Dark Lord himself, then yes, I suppose we had ‘a bit more fun’.”

There were days that Dwalin almost forgot about his husband’s penchant for sarcasm. One never really expected it from Ori until it smacked them upside the head like an iron pole. “I’m going with you,” Nori insisted.

“I am, too,” Bofur said. He kept glancing over at Bilbo and Esmeralda, as if he wanted to say more, but finally settled for fussing with his hat. Dwalin frowned. What in Mahal’s name was wrong with Bofur?

Thorin, too, was frowning at the toymaker, but finally moved on to the rest of the company. “We cannot all go,” he told them.

“Funny, that sounds a lot like what you told us the _first_ journey,” Kili said with a small grin. He glanced at Esmeralda and gave a quick wink. “We didn’t stay behind then, either.”

“I’m not surprised,” Esmeralda said with a small smile of her own. Her face was still red and tear stained, but her hands had unclenched and were now hanging by her sides. Bilbo had moved to wrap his arm around her shoulder, looking for all the world like her older sibling, ready to guard her against anything that came their way. If Thorin decided to argue with Bilbo about going along later, Dwalin would have words for the king. Nothing was going to dissuade Esmeralda from going, and if they told her to stay, she’d just go on her own and most certainly get hurt, or worse. And if the little lass went, Bilbo would be right beside her.

“I’m goin’ with ye,” Gimli said. Gloin let out a heavy sigh.

“We know,” most everyone chorused from around the table. As if that had been a surprise.

Balin stood from his place at the table and looked to Thorin. “As will I,” he said, surprising Dwalin. “I’ve stood with you for many a journey and battle before, and I’ll do so again. I could only join with you in Gondor the last time, but I’ve a chance to go with you now, and I’ll take it.”

“And I would happily take it,” Thorin said. “Thank you.”

“I will leave my men here to help defend Erebor,” Aragorn said. “It will be easier for us to travel that way.”

Dwalin really should’ve known. “You’re a king, Aragorn,” Thorin told him. “I would not risk you.”

“You are also a king,” Aragorn pointed out, “but that doesn’t stop you. I only need to send a letter back to Arwen; she will stand as regent for a small while longer, that is all.” He turned to Bilbo and Esmeralda, looking every part the king that he was. The smile he gave them, however, was that of a friend. “And they are the kin of a good and dear friend, one whom I would do anything for. I will go with you.”

Bilbo bit his lip, his eyes red. No tears fell, though Dwalin knew they’d fall later, if they hadn’t already. “Thank you,” Bilbo said. “That means so much to me.” He shook his head. “This is twice now you’ve gone on a journey for me. All of you, going off across Middle-Earth for my sake.”

Thorin moved from his place at last and to Bilbo’s side. “There is a distinct difference this time, however,” he said. He brushed Bilbo’s marriage braid with his hand before cupping his husband’s face. “We’ll travel not just for you, but with you. I will not leave your side again. I promised you: where you go, I go. And I hold to that.”

Bilbo began to smile. No words needed to be said. They rarely did, with those two, Dwalin thought to himself. A secret, silent language, shared with mere looks and glances. He had something like that, with Ori, communicating with a raised eyebrow here, a quick nod there. But Thorin and Bilbo had something completely beyond that. Most days, it was startling. Some days, it was just plain frightening. Every day, it spoke of something completely unfathomable.

It made Dwalin’s head hurt. And his was hurting badly enough at the moment, thinking about the dead dwarf guards several floors below them and the fact that what he’d originally thought would be a scout mission was now turning into another adventure.

“Is that everyone, then?” Dwalin asked, mostly sarcastic. “Because if that’s not enough, I can go up to the kitchen floor and find some dwarves there, too.”

“I will also come.”

Always picked the best – and worst – times to show. “Gandalf,” Esmeralda said and hurried over to him. He all but had to fold himself in half to wrap his arms around her, and she buried her face in his white robes. She mumbled something into his robes, but it was lost on Dwalin’s ears. Gandalf heard her, however, and let out a regretful sigh.

“I had heard, my dear. I am so sorry.”

After a moment, she stepped back, sniffling. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand before Gimli moved around the table with a handkerchief in hand. Before he reached her, however, Bofur was there, offering her one of his. “Why everyone has my handkerchiefs except for _me_ , I don’t know,” Bilbo muttered. Thorin dropped a hand to his shoulder with a fond smile.

While Esmeralda dried her eyes, Gandalf moved his gaze around the company. “You aim to venture forth once more,” he said, his statement more of a question. At the several brusque nods he received, Gandalf looked to Thorin. “I have little information for you, but enough to tell you that you may catch up with them, in Mirkwood. Rumors of orcs on the western edge of the forest have reached me, and I intended on bringing you this news after the feast. When I arrived, however, I was told that you were in conference with Gondor and Rohan regarding a tragedy that had befallen Bilbo’s kin.” He pursed his lips. “It seems I may have been a bit late.”

“Not orcs,” Bilbo said quietly. Gandalf glanced at him, his frown deepening when he apparently didn’t see what he liked. Dwalin didn’t blame him: Bilbo’d been sick for the past few weeks, and now this. He was still far too pale and exhausted for Dwalin to not worry. Bilbo might have given him the scolding all those years ago, but the hobbit had a way of not following his own advice. “Thieves,” Bilbo continued. The ones I spoke to you of when you visited last.”

“The ones beneath Erebor?”

“The same,” Thorin said with a nod. “At least, I hope they are.”

Gandalf raised one eyebrow. “If you want answers, Thorin King, you will have to stay your sword, for a time.” Still, he sounded more amused than anything else. All knowing wizards were a right pain, Dwalin thought, annoyed. Not that it wasn’t obvious that Thorin was ready to rip a few heads loose. “And I believe it is answers you seek. I have questions of my own I would ask, if there are orcs also party to this. I will accompany you, whenever you leave.”

“Look at that: company’s all back together,” Kili said, glancing around the room. He gave a quick grin. “Except if we can do less of terror, Mordor, and great battles, that’d be fantastic.”

“Thank you for cursing us,” Fili said. He glared at Kili before rolling his eyes. “We’ll be swamped with terrible things, now, from the minute we set foot outside of Erebor.”

“That’s it?” Bombur asked, wiping his hands on his trousers. “All decided?” When Gandalf nodded, he moved as briskly as he could towards the door. “Feast is on in a few short hours. Need to be in the kitchens.”

Thorin nodded. “As do we all. We leave tomorrow before the sun rises. Until then, we are all here to celebrate ten years of peace.”

Dwalin pursed his lips. “And tomorrow, we’ll set about ensurin’ the next ten years are the same.” He had a few axes and warhammers to do just that, and he’d swing them at anything that left Bilbo and Esmeralda looking the way they did.

Scratch that. _Especially_ anything that left them as miserable and grieving as they were now. And he had a feeling his opinion was shared by a great number of those in the room.

No one messed with their hobbits.

 _No_ one.


	4. A feast and nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feast is held, and though they celebrate, tension and worry run high amongst the company.
> 
> And a nightmare that Bilbo hasn't had in years comes visiting again.

Bilbo wished he could say that he was paying attention to and enjoying the feast. The food was delicious, obviously, what with Bombur in charge. There was laughter everywhere, echoing through the great hall. Everywhere he could see, there were men and dwarves enjoying the hospitality of Erebor. Well wishes were given to those visiting and to the reigning monarch. Not that Thorin could care less, most likely, since all Bilbo’s husband did all night was stare at him. Probably thinking about the potential ransom thought that Bilbo had brought to him prior to the feast. Probably trying to find a way to keep him in Erebor.

As if that would work.

But truly, Bilbo didn’t remember much of the celebration. He sort of faded out for a bit, mind lost in thoughts of what had been and what could be, of Prim and Drogo’s fate, of their little daughter Elodie. Primula had told Bilbo that they hadn’t planned on a child so soon, but then Bilbo had gifted them the house, the one thing they’d been waiting for in order to provide for a child, and to think of Elodie, nine years old, under the hands of the thieves-

It had taken Fili’s gentle nudge of his shoulder to pull him back when Thorin had risen to speak to his people. It was the one part of the night that wouldn’t be forgotten.

“Guests from lands afar and cities near, I bid you welcome to Erebor.”

The deafening cheer had rung through the halls, and even when Thorin held up his hands, the echo took some time to fade. “This is a time of celebration,” he continued. “A time to remember the peace and prosperity we and all of Middle-Earth have shared for ten years. We owe the kingdoms of Middle-Earth for this peace, and owe it also to those who fought and died for it. May the honored dead always be remembered for what they gave to us.”

“The honored dead,” the hall chorused, and Bilbo numbly wrapped his hand around the goblet before him, barely tasting the wine. His cousins could very well be a part of that count now, and there were dwarven guards who were. He’d known those dwarves, had shared words with them, had known their families-

Thorin was talking again. “…gratitude to one who made this peace possible; my Beloved, Bilbo Baggins, he who bore the Ring.”

Another cheer, the loudest yet, went up, and Bilbo felt himself blush to the tips of his ears. “I _hate_ when you do that,” he muttered under his breath to Thorin, but he still stood and nodded towards the hall. The rest of the company was whistling and cheering him on the loudest. Of course they were.

But he still didn’t understand why they continued to make such a fuss. He’d only done what anyone else would’ve done, in his stead. No one had wanted the Ring to remain on the earth. The only thing he’d done that was remarkable was cross Mordor on his own, and he would swear to his dying day that he hadn’t been alone.

Thorin gave him a faint smile filled with such tenderness that Bilbo barely found his feet to sit back down. It was nearly as bad as his touch: all he had to do was turn his lips up into that quirk of his and settle his eyes on Bilbo and-

Bother it all, he missed Thorin talking _again_. “…with ill news, news that I would have spared for another time had there not been urgency,” Thorin said, and the hall went silent. Every pair of eyes was locked on the dwarf king, and from his place at the front table of honor, Bard looked just as puzzled as everyone else. Thorin took in a breath, and Bilbo shot to his feet.

“A troubling matter in my homeland, the Shire, has called for our aid. This matter requires the most delicacy, so it will be your king and his heirs that will accompany me, along with the Company of the Quest.” If they were going to embarrass him with titles, he could do the same. Even now, he could see Nori’s cheeks turning pink and Bofur trying to hide under his hat at the cheers and applause that followed. He stifled his grin of triumph and continued: “Erebor will be left in the capable hands of the wise Princess Dis, Princess Dernwyn, and Guildmaster Dori. I can think of no better beings to stand before you and help rule Erebor as we go west to aid my kin.”

A cheer for the three rose, and Bilbo let the applause resound for a bit. Dis and Dernwyn both stood, bowing before the hall, and after only a moment’s hesitation did Dori stand as well. He hid his surprise well, and gave a formal bow from his place at the table.

Bard stood, catching the attention of all in the hall. “As leader of Dale, I pledge my city and myself to aiding Erebor in any way necessary while its ruler is away. May your travels be blessed and safe.”

He _would_ make a good king, if he’d just put on a crown already. Bilbo wondered if he could speak to him about it one more time before he left. The people of Dale were already cheering in acknowledgment of his oath, and the dwarves were cheering _them_ in response. Bilbo’s head wasn’t going to take much more of the noise, not when his head kept pounding as it had been since he’d seen Saradoc lain out on the stretcher.

Esmeralda had asked to see Saradoc, before the feast, and Bilbo had gone with her. That long hour was going to go down in his memories as one of the worst experiences of his life. Listening to his cousin weep over her husband’s body, one that never should have been a body, and knowing there was nothing he could do to help her…

No one was cheering anymore. Bilbo blinked and found that everyone was chatting and eating once more and he was somehow back in his seat. “Uncle?” Fili said, as if he’d been saying it for awhile. “Are you all right? Uncle?”

Bilbo nodded, but apparently it wasn’t very convincing. Even as Fili pursed his lips and Kili looked ready to scold – and honestly, turning Bilbo’s own scolding look back on him was just cruel – a hand took him carefully by the elbow and pulled him to standing. Thorin was saying something quiet to those at the table, and then Bilbo was being walked down the hallway towards the royal chambers. Once he realized that was where they were going, Bilbo pushed ineffectively at Thorin. It only made Thorin move to hold Bilbo’s other arm in order to keep him upright and all but in front of him as they walked. “Thorin, I’m fine,” Bilbo protested. “And neither of us ate hardly anything-“

“Bombur’s bringing up dishes for the both of us,” Thorin told him. They kept moving towards the royal halls, and before he knew it, they were moving up the stairs into their private corridor. “You need rest away from the noise.”

Not that Bilbo was going to argue with that, because it was true. Still, the last thing he needed was to be treated like some dainty dish that would break at the slightest tremble. “It’s not right for you to leave early when it’s _you_ they’re celebrating,” Bilbo pointed out. “I’m fine, truly.” Which is when, of course, his feet chose that moment to trip over themselves and send him nearly onto his face.

Thorin caught him and pulled him back against his chest. Even through Bilbo’s thick vest of dwarven make, his staple for the past several years, Bilbo could still feel the heat of his husband on his back. “You’re fine,” Thorin said, voice flat. “Yes, I can see that.”

Bilbo turned in his husband’s arms. “It’s not right for you to not be at your own feast,” he said softly. “Especially because you feel the need to all but carry your pathetic hobbit to bed-“

The words, though jesting, didn’t pull a smile to Thorin’s lips. If anything, it made them tighter still. “Refer to my husband as ‘pathetic’ again,” Thorin said, leaning in until he was nearly nose to nose with Bilbo, “and you’ll not like what I do.”

“If you withhold tea or, or tie bells into my hair, _you_ won’t like what I do-“

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, and he pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s. Bilbo let his eyes flutter shut at the caress. Sometimes, he thought, the gentle touch was more intimate than any kiss they’d ever shared. Thorin slid his hands up to tenderly grasp Bilbo’s shoulders, and Bilbo moved his own hands to wrap around the back of Thorin’s neck. They stayed for a moment like that, simply breathing.

Finally Thorin spoke. “Losing a loved one is taxing enough, let alone following it with a feast where all eyes rest upon you, which I know you dislike enduring on a good day. But you still aren’t fully recovered from your illness, do _not_ even attempt to argue with me,” he said firmly when Bilbo began to protest. Bilbo muttered about the stubbornness of dwarves but finally subsided. It wasn’t as if Thorin was wrong. “And if you insist on journeying-“

“I do,” Bilbo interjected. “There, you won’t hold sway. I _am_ going with you and the company. They’re my kin: I can’t just sit here and do nothing when I was willing to travel across Middle-Earth and through Mordor by myself.” No, he was going, and Thorin was just going to have to accept that.

Thorin pursed his lips but finally bent to press a kiss to the tip of Bilbo’s nose. “Then you’ll at least have rest before we go. You’ll not enjoy remembering how it feels to sleep on the ground.”

“That’s because I’m not as young as I used to be,” Bilbo pointed out. He felt his lips twitch up into a smile. 60 years wasn’t old, but it wasn’t young, either. He was already more than halfway through the average lifespan of a hobbit. Still, he’d suffer the ground as a mattress. He’d done it before, and he could do it again.

Thorin’s face twisted briefly before it evened out once more. Bilbo still didn’t understand the look he’d been receiving for a few months now. Pain? Grief? He couldn’t figure it out. “You’re young enough,” Thorin said. “Young enough to lead my own speech for me without hesitation.”

The dry tone wasn’t ignored. “That has nothing to do with youth and more to do with not wanting to send the people of Erebor into a frenzy,” Bilbo said, rolling his eyes. He headed down the hall towards their chambers, Thorin right beside him. “I didn’t know what you were going to say but I wasn’t about to sit and listen to you say it.”

“They deserve to know,” Thorin said. “Someone _may_ notice our not being here.”

“Cheeky dwarf,” Bilbo muttered. Thorin gave a quick grin. “There’s still a difference between telling them all of the despairing truth and telling them what they need to know. Political tactfulness, husband of mine. All hobbits know it by the age of twenty. Primula could’ve led Erebor by the age of fifteen-“ He stopped, all playfulness gone. His cousin was missing, and he was standing here, _bantering_ with Thorin.

Thorin pressed a firm kiss to the top of his head. “If you dwell in anguish, you’ll be of no help to them,” he said quietly. With one hand he nudged their door open; the other he placed on Bilbo’s back to guide him. “I learned that lesson the hard and painful way as I searched for you. Please do not make my mistake.”

Bilbo had done his own anguishing during that time, too. Still, Thorin was right. Bilbo swallowed hard and let Thorin guide him into less dressy clothes and to sit in front of the fire, where they sat together until a kitchen aide brought their dinner to them. As much as Bilbo wished Thorin hadn’t missed his own feast, there was nowhere else Bilbo would rather have been than in front of a cozy fire, cuddled beside his husband.

  
  


Running. Running across the field, running while that terrible voice called his name, over and over and over again. Blood stained his feet, made the ground muddy, the smell of it hanging in the air.

He kept running. If he didn’t, if he looked down, he knew what he’d see. He refused to look, because then it wasn’t real, right? If he didn’t look, if he kept his gaze upward as he ran across the bodies and the blood on the field, it wouldn’t be real, would it?

His feet stumbled over something, and he fell, hitting the ground hard. Desperate to get up he fought to get his hands under him, but they pressed against something wet and moving. His eyes darted to the figure below him.

“No,” he whispered, horrified. No, no, _no_ , this was what he’d tried to avoid, this was what he’d fought to keep from happening, this was everything he hadn’t wanted to see.

Beneath him, Thorin choked on the blood in his mouth and fought to take a breath. His last breaths. Beside his husband, Bilbo could see Fili and Kili, blood fanning out around their heads as they lay still. Too still.

“No,” Bilbo said again, louder, because this couldn’t be happening. Thorin wasn’t dying, and sweet Eru, there was blood all over his hands, thick and red and it made him sick. He tried to get to his feet, tried to ignore the dark voice that had been calling him and taunting him.

But the voice wasn’t there. A shadow fell over him, and Bilbo looked up instinctively. Before him, Erebor seemed taller than ever, and soon he was eclipsed in its shade.

When he looked back down, Thorin was dead, his sightless eyes locked on Bilbo.

  
  


Bilbo sat up straight, his panting breaths the only sound. The fire had gone out some time ago, only embers remaining. Beside him, Thorin slept on, long hair spread across his pillow.

It was impossible not to gaze at him. Thorin was a majestic and benevolent ruler by day, a kind and worshipful husband to Bilbo, but when he slept, there was an innocence there that Bilbo never saw except in sleep. There were fewer lines in his face, and his skin looked so soft that Bilbo ached to reach out and run his fingers along it.

He settled for sliding out of bed and padding silently to the fire. It took very little effort to bring it back to a gentle blaze again. Only then did he sit down, his head falling immediately into his hands.

It’d been so long since he’d last had that dream. He’d had it several times over the course of his journey to Mordor. Each one had been the same: Sauron’s horrible voice calling for him as he ran from the heat and flames. Finding Thorin, Fili, and Kili on the battlefield, dead and gone. Being swallowed up by Sauron’s burning eye.

This…this was different. His name had been called but a few times at the beginning of the dream, and then he’d been left in the shadow of Erebor. That hadn’t happened before. That was new. And ‘new’, in regards to that dream, wasn’t anything good.

Saradoc’s death. This was him putting his grief of Saradoc’s death into the thought of losing Thorin, Fili, and Kili. That’s what it was. The thought didn’t bring him comfort, however. He still felt as if there was a large stone in his stomach, rolling and knocking everything about. He tried to swallow back the sudden wave of sickness at the memory of Thorin gasping for air as he lay dying.

So lost in his thoughts, he almost didn’t hear the soft footsteps moving across the floor. He most certainly didn’t miss the hand upon his shoulder, and when he looked up, Thorin knelt in front of him beside the fire. His hair was mussed, his silver-touched locks hanging about in messy tangles that made Bilbo want to run his fingers through them. When he moved his hand from Bilbo’s shoulder to his face, cupping his cheek, Thorin looked so vulnerable that Bilbo could suddenly only see his husband in the dream: the light slowly leaving his eyes, his last gulps of air, helpless on the ground.

He reached up and caught Thorin’s hand, leaning into it, shutting his eyes tight to just _feel_. Tears leaked out from his closed eyelids, and he felt another hand against his face to wipe them away. “Just a dream,” he choked out. It was only a dream. Thorin was here, Kili and Fili were just down the hall sleeping with their wedded ones. Everyone was fine. It was only a dream.

It didn’t stop him from leaning forward and falling out of the chair and into Thorin’s waiting embrace. Thorin didn’t ask him: Bilbo didn’t tell him. Not now. He had other things to do, like curl up in his husband’s lap and watch the flames dance inside the fireplace. He pressed his ear to Thorin’s chest and closed his eyes to the steady thumping of his heart. Thorin’s fingers slid through his curls, fingernails lightly scratching at his scalp. The motion soothed mind and heart, and Bilbo’s own breathing began to slow.

Thorin stayed where he was long after Bilbo had fallen asleep in his arms. His fingers played absently in his husband’s curly hair, eyes locked on the flames in the fireplace. It wasn’t often that Bilbo woke with nightmares, anymore, and Thorin could count the number of times it had driven Bilbo from their bed after telling Thorin, seeking solace in a book or by the fire.

This had been the first time since they had been wed that Bilbo hadn’t woken him about a nightmare. That in and of itself was worrying.

Bilbo snuffled, a soft huffing noise through his nose that Thorin couldn’t help but smile at. Without a doubt, this had been a terrible few days, and not much hope of it getting better. Bilbo was exhausted and still recovering from an illness. Tumbling from bed because of a nightmare was not hard to imagine.

And Thorin had a sinking feeling that the nightmare had had to do with him, given how Bilbo had reacted upon seeing him.

Carefully he gathered his husband into his arms, cradling the strongest, yet most fragile, treasure he had ever called his own. It was not Bilbo’s spirit he worried for, but his body, his age, his mortality that continued to be thrown in Thorin’s face at every waking opportunity. Even Bilbo had made a jest about not being young anymore. His hands tightened reflexively, and Bilbo shifted minutely in his grasp, still asleep.

He moved to his side of the bed and placed Bilbo just beyond it before sliding in beside him. Asleep, Bilbo looked at peace, age and weariness falling away into nothing. Thorin swallowed back the sudden swell of emotions at the thought that this was, perhaps, what Bilbo would look like when he passed on. He cursed himself for the thought and gathered Bilbo to him, curling around him, protecting him in sleep.

Bilbo’s soft breaths against his neck were Thorin’s lullaby that slowly allowed him to drift off.


	5. The quiet beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company sets off. Old friends share glad tidings and feelings of grief.
> 
> And elsewhere, three hobbits find themselves in peril.

Before dawn broke, they were on their way.

Not a sound was made as they ventured forth from the stables. They took as few horses as they could, hoping to keep their travel group to a minimum. Packs were saddled, last minute orders were given, and then it was simply left to goodbyes. That, in Dis’s opinion, was the hardest part.

She pulled Fili and Kili to her, and when he tarried outside of her embrace, she caught Legolas as well and clung to them all. She would be able to keep one of her children here with her, but the others were leaving. She remembered what it had been like, to stand waiting as they journeyed to Erebor, certain that the next letter would hold news of their deaths. But they had prevailed once; she had to hold faith that they were do so once more.

Both of her brothers were going, and she held Thorin tightly in her arms next. He whispered a parting blessing to her, and she hated herself for the way her eyes flooded. She didn’t want a parting blessing: she wanted him to be well, to be safe, to be ruling Erebor instead of her. She wanted both him and Bilbo to be here in the mountain, happy and worry free.

She looked to her hobbit brother last, where he was bidding farewell to Holdred and Hildili. They hurried to Fili to give him a third final embrace, and she took the opportunity to pull Bilbo to her. “Be safe, brother mine,” she told him. “We’ll keep Erebor standing until you return.”

“Hint of trouble, and we’ll send a raven,” Bilbo promised. “You’ll know what’s happening.”

Dis gave a nod. She only wished that there was a way to safely send a raven back to them, if the need to converse arose. It would be dangerous enough to send one to Erebor, though, and she wouldn’t betray their position by sending a return message. “I had better hear nothing save for how you’ve found your cousins and it’s all well,” she said firmly. “That’s the message to send.”

Bilbo made a sound of agreement, but looked less than confident. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Go, and be safe,” she said. In a quieter tone she whispered, “And make certain Thorin and my sons all behave.”

The words had the intended affect: Bilbo gave her a grin. “There’s only so much one being can do,” he volleyed back, and she chuckled. Good: better he go off with a smile then forced cheer. The journey would be hard enough. There was already a horrible chance that this would be for naught, and they would find strewn bodies across a path. This entire venture could be nothing more than a fool’s chase.

 _Now who despairs?_ she inwardly scolded herself. She had to stand strong for them. She had to hope.

Thorin pulled Bilbo up onto his horse as Fili delivered Holdred and Hildili back to Dernwyn. Dis’s daughter looked just as wretched about leaving as Fili did, but she clung to her children in determination. “Be safe,” she told him. “And duck.”

Fili huffed a laugh at the age old joke and pressed his forehead to hers. He stole a quick kiss – causing Hildili and Holdred to both make the most comical of faces – then went to his horse. A few of the company were chuckling at the faces the little ones were making, but once Fili was upon his horse, they were ready to leave. Dis almost wished she wasn’t the regent in charge, for it wasn’t fair: she’d had to offer a farewell blessing once before, and it had left her with a feeling of dread. And here she was about to give another.

Gandalf glanced back at her with knowing eyes. “We venture forward,” he said, his voice rumbling through the stables. “Keep your eyes to the horizon for any ravens we may send, and for our return.” With that, he tucked his feet against the side of his beautiful white horse and raced out of the stables, the others right behind him. Dis watched them go, her relief of not having to offer them a farewell diminished by the fact that they were gone. She could see them pounding across the field, making their way to Mirkwood, and she forced herself to turn around. She couldn’t afford to stand and stare after them until they disappeared from sight. Erebor awaited.

“I think breakfast is in order,” she said as lightly as she could. “Wouldn’t you, daughter mine?”

“Can we 'ave biscuits?” Lili asked, hope bright in her little eyes. Dernwyn chortled.

“Perhaps later. I have a hope that Bombur will cook something more substantial than that. Perhaps those little flat cakes you enjoy.”

“Uncle Bilbo calls them pancakes,” Holdred informed them. “I like them.”

That was a warm and happy memory to keep with them: she could imagine Bilbo telling the little ones quite seriously what each food was called and how best to eat it. Her brother watching all the while, a twinkle in his eye as he pretended to pay no attention to them. Fili and Kili trying to goad each other on into eating the most, the company cheering and placing harmless bets.

Their table in the dining hall was going to be very empty for a time. Perhaps Bombur wouldn’t mind their eating in the kitchen, for a bit.

Dis kept that memory and her thoughts as they moved back inside, her mind moving to focus on the tasks that the day would bring.

  
  


Mirkwood actually held light, more than Aragorn had anticipated. When last he had traveled through it, it had been dark, and he had been loathe to disturb it. But now, now it was obvious that work had been done. Webs were no longer visible, and the sun poured through various branches. Some were cut, obviously by blade, but other branches were curled up and out of the way, as if remembering which way they ought to grow. Given the nature of their journey, it was a blessing to see.

His horse drifted towards Thorin’s and Bilbo’s steed, and Aragorn moved closer, grateful for the opportunity. “I was glad to reach Erebor,” he told them. “Gladder still to see you both. I know the circumstances that have brought us together again have not been joyful, but it is so good to see you again.” Thorin had become a brother in arms during their long journey across Middle-Earth, someone who knew what it was like to have to stand with the weight of a crown.

And Bilbo? Bilbo was a friend, a gentle, wise friend whom he’d missed dearly. They had exchanged letters throughout the years, but seeing the hobbit had brought a measure of joy to his heart.

Thorin nodded. “I am glad you were able to come to Erebor. I only wish I could have shown you more of what my people have done, and how many now make their home there. I was shown Gondor: I had wished to offer you the same.”

Aragorn smiled. “The crown is easier to bear than I had thought. At least some days,” he admitted, and Thorin snorted.

“Some days. I could do without it on the other days.”

“You both deserve them, though,” Bilbo said firmly, and Aragorn’s smile drifted further up into a grin. Ever determined and sincere, ever positive even in the midst of darkness. “I can’t think of two others to better lead a people than you both.”

“You always have faith when no one else does,” Aragorn said, and the tips of Bilbo’s ears went pink. Thorin was gazing at Bilbo with a smile that Aragorn himself had worn many a time when looking at Arwen: a gentle affection that spoke of more love than any one being could perceivably contain. It was so different from how he had last seen them: struggling to find their balance again, their love almost too raw to watch, gratitude and pain and forgiveness visible for all to see.

Now they were comfortable and content, for the most part. It was obvious that Thorin did not want Bilbo to have come along, for his safety and the sake of Thorin’s mind. Aragorn felt selfishly grateful, for one moment, that Arwen was in Gondor, safely attended by all who adored her and could protect her. Though, if called to, Arwen could just as easily defend herself. His Queen was decidedly adept with her blade.

Bilbo was also more than capable of defending himself. That did not meant Thorin wanted him to, and neither did Aragorn. The safer Bilbo was, the more at rest they would all feel. His small friend had fought for himself more than enough for a lifetime. He had endured far more than anyone should have. Now, he was going forward again to try and save his kin.

“I am glad to travel alongside you once more,” Aragorn said. “But I am even more grateful to simply see you again, my friend.”

Bilbo finally gave a smile. “It’s been far too long,” he agreed. “Perhaps this time we’ll do better at staying together?”

“There is no ‘perhaps’,” Thorin muttered, and Aragorn chuckled. No, they would not be losing their hobbit on this journey.

And hopefully, they would not lose other hobbits to the foulness of thieves.

  
  


Esmeralda wasn’t certain when they passed the place where she’d been attacked with the others. Legolas and Dwalin had suddenly started a conversation about the cooking merits of hobbits, and what her favorite dishes were, however, so Esmeralda was fairly certain it’d been about then. There would’ve been no evidence of what had transpired, she was certain of that. Well, she hoped there wouldn’t be. She wasn’t certain she could stomach seeing any stain of blood left from where Saradoc…

“Do you want to rest?” Tauriel asked quietly from behind her. The elf had a careful hold on her, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding the reins of the horse while pressing against Esmeralda’s side. Always making sure that she was safe.

“I’m just sitting; how much more rest could I need?” Still, Esmeralda could feel the ache in her back and her legs from ‘just sitting’ upon the horse. Though gentle as the horse was, they were moving back and forth at a steady pace, and it was wearying. She was fairly certain Tauriel knew that, however. She shrugged. “I’ll be all right. The further we can get, the better, though, right?”

Tauriel gave a soft huff. “You push as hard as Bilbo does,” she said sternly. “You will ache and be more tired still tomorrow.”

“Bilbo managed to carry the One Ring all the way to Mordor, and he walked,” Esmeralda said in reply. There was a hint of pride in her voice, thinking of her cousin who rode a few horses ahead of her. He was her hero, and there were no two ways about it. He was one of the closest, dearest cousins she would ever have. When the other little hobbits her age had gone off to make daisy crowns and chains, Bilbo had let her run wild, letting her pretend she was a mighty elf who could slay any and all who dared to take the biscuit jar from her. Primula had always somehow gotten past her, though. But Prim got past everyone.

She hadn’t gotten past the orcs. Esmeralda felt what little good cheer she had fall. Primula and Drogo, and their sweet little Ellie. And Saradoc. Good, kind Saradoc who’d agreed to marry her when their families had suggested it, even with her wild spirit. “I’ll do well by you,” he’d promised. “I’ll make you proud to be a Brandybuck. And we might not feel heart stirrings yet, but I do love you. How anyone could not, I don’t quite know.” She remembered the wink he’d given her. “We’ll muddle this wedding and marriage life out together, eh?”

“Esse?”

Esmeralda shook herself at Tauriel’s worried insistence. “I’m all right,” she said softly. How she’d be anything close to all right again, she didn’t know. Having Bilbo ahead of her and Tauriel behind her, that helped. Knowing Thorin and Kili and Dwalin were there, that helped too. And Bifur’s cousin Bofur, who seemed a very gentle sort, had been very kind to her. A bit shy, perhaps, but there was a sweetness in his eyes and a hint of trouble when he grinned, which hadn’t been often. Then again, she didn’t quite smile these days, either.

“As long as I draw breath, nothing will come near you,” Tauriel swore quietly in her ear. She said the word again, that strange word that Esmeralda hadn’t understood several days ago. She frowned and glanced up behind her.

“What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“That word. The word you said after we reached Erebor. It’s pretty sounding, like a flower.”

Tauriel’s cheeks went a bit pink, but she gave a small smile, and Esmeralda felt all of a young hobbit again, watching this beautiful elf with such admiration. “It means ‘sister’, specifically one who is young and little. One to be treasured and protected.”

Esmeralda felt her own cheeks warm. She knew what it was to be a younger sister: youngest of five, she most certainly knew what it was to be the ‘little sister’. But this felt different. This was someone who had no siblings of their own, for she knew Tauriel had no other kin, and yet…and yet she held Esmeralda as a sister, as kin, as she held Legolas to be a friend and brother.

She took in a breath. “When you came to the Shire ten years ago, I have to admit, I was completely besotted with you,” she confessed. Tauriel’s eyebrows raised in a knowing way, and Esmeralda’s flush went deep red. “All right, so you knew,” she muttered before clearing her throat. “You were this beautiful elf who was everything I’d ever wanted to be when I was a young child. Bilbo could tell you stories about my running around with my small bow and arrow, pretending to see for miles and miles.”

“I may have to ask him,” Tauriel said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “This sounds like something a sister should know.”

Esmeralda huffed. “Oh, he’ll tell you, and happily at that.” She paused. “So when I met you, you were everything I had ever wanted to see, to _be_. It was wonderful. And you were so kind and so tall and so beautiful…how was I not to adore you?”

The forest was quiet around them. In the daylight, it seemed less threatening than it had when last she was in it. It had been this quiet, this calm, too, before night had fallen. Before they’d been attacked.

Tauriel’s arm went a little tighter around her waist, and Esmeralda relaxed marginally. “I think…I think I was too young to truly understand what a heart’s desiring was. You were my first glimpse of the outside world, my first glimpse of my deepest wish I’ve ever wished for myself. You were…well. You were one of my first friends.” The days with Tauriel in the Shire had been lovely indeed. Some of her best memories were of those few days with the elf, learning how to use a real bow and arrow, being taught the better ways to hold a battle stance, enjoying the drizzling rains. She had thought herself truly in love.

Life had given her some experience, had taught her heartbreak and wisdom (though her siblings would claim otherwise). What had been a child’s whimsy was now a warmth in her heart for this wonderful being who even now strove to protect her. She had not understood the way her heart had responded, as a hobbit in her between years, and had thought it love. It _was_ love, but not of the heart’s desire. She didn’t feel for Tauriel the way Bilbo obviously felt for Thorin, or the way Kili felt for Legolas. This was different. She counted her happiness in Tauriel’s smiles, not in her kisses, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You have a bit of my heart with you,” Esmeralda said softly. She gave a quick smile that didn’t hurt too much to give. “I think you did, even before you came to the Shire. You were always meant to be my friend, I think. Perhaps we _are_ sisters, in soul. Is that what you meant?”

Tauriel slowly began to smile, and it was like the sun. “Yes,” she said. “That is exactly what I meant. You were so young, when I first met you, so full of life and brightness. It was beautiful, and you called to me and my heart, my very being. Sisters of soul, I think, is the apt description.” Her smile fell. “I am sorry you lost your heart’s desiring, as I believe you called it.”

Esmeralda swallowed and shook her head. “We weren’t…we weren’t that to each other. Not yet, at any rate.” And now she would never know if her heart could have found a match with Saradoc’s. She thought of him, of her friend, sleeping forever. She thought of the ashes she even now carried with her in a small metal urn. Dwalin had brought it to her that morning before they had departed, the most solemn she’d ever seen him, and had given it to her with a bow. She hadn’t had to ask what it was: she had known. She was grateful they’d done it so quickly, that they’d fulfilled her last request for him, so she could take him home.

“Still, he was a friend, and you still grieve. For that, I will always be sorry.”

“Me too,” she whispered, and Tauriel pulled her a little closer. “Me too.” The unspoken _what-ifs_ would always resound in her head. She could marry again, as young as she was. It would be encouraged by her family and by his, who would always welcome her as a daughter. But she wasn’t certain if she could. She wouldn’t have an arranged marriage, the next time. Whomever she held hands with next would be her choice and hers alone.

It sounded like an adventure. One that Esmeralda Took Brandybuck wasn’t certain she wanted to take. At least, not at the moment.

She never noticed Bofur riding beside them with Nori, watching her quietly, worrying over the grief that crossed her face.

  
  


“Drogo!”

Drogo tumbled gracelessly to his knees, wincing as they tore at his hands. This right here was the reason a Baggins never strayed from the Shire. Situations like these, _adventures_ , they only led to heartache and grief. And, in the worst of cases, death.

This was the worst of cases if ever Drogo had seen one.

“Bring him forward.”

Drogo shrugged off the attempts to catch him by the shoulders. Lips curled into a smirk. “Fine. Bring _them_ forward.”

“No, wait!” Drogo shouted suddenly when rough hands made to grab Primula and Elodie. Both of their eyes were wide with fear, but there was a hint of fire behind Primula’s eyes, a fire Drogo knew well. _Keep your Brandybuck down, dear, it won’t help us here._ Not that he even knew where _here_ was. He might’ve been dragged in with both eyes wide open, but that didn’t mean he had a clue where he was.

He struggled to get to his feet. His legs had been bound for so long he wasn’t certain he could walk steady. Bouncing around on the back of…of _whatever_ that thing had been hadn’t helped either. The stench from the beast had been sickening. Still, he managed to get his feet beneath him and stagger over to where the figure sat, shrouded in darkness. He could still see the face, though, and he frowned. All of these men, these dwarves, these _orcs_ , and he hadn’t expected their leader to be-

“Are you of Bilbo Baggins’ family?”

Drogo felt his heart stop. His instinctive response was the truth, and he ruthlessly squashed it until it made not even a peep in his mind. He stared ahead instead and tried to square his shoulders. “I will ask one more time and one time only: are you of Bilbo Baggins’ family?”

Sweat broke out across his brow, only making the grime that much worse. _Hold your courage, Baggins: Bilbo might’ve gotten his adventurous side from his mother, but the Baggins line holds the stalwart heart._ At least, that was what he hoped.

A nod was given in his direction, admiration in the eyes. “You hold strong and true, much as the Ringbearer himself did. You most certainly are kin of his.” Sharp eyes cut over to the orcs. “Take them onward: our plan still stands. Bilbo Baggins will not be able to resist the lure of blood kin in danger. Then I will have my prize, the one I should have had two years ago.”

Orcs came forward and started dragging Drogo away. “You leave him alone!” Drogo shouted suddenly. “If you hurt him-“

“Your threat means nothing to me,” and the voice was far too casual and held too much power. “Because that, small Halfling, is exactly what I intend to do.”

Drogo was shoved back towards Prim and Elodie, and he gathered them both in his arms. “It’s all right,” he tried to reassure them. “It’s all right.” The flames ahead of them left him shuddering. Where had they been taken? “We’ll get home safe enough, you’ll see.”

One of the orcs laughed. “Truer words ne’er spoken, little hobbit. They want to go home, boys: think we should oblige ‘em?”

And suddenly, as they were ushered through that terrible, dark place, Drogo made a wish to never see the Shire again, if it would keep these thieves and horrible creatures from his homeland.

Cruel green eyes followed them as they left, and a smirk began to spread. “You know your tasks,” came the order to the orcs and thieves remaining. “This plan cannot work without the Ringbearer. I want him at my feet, broken, but not dead. Not yet. The final blow is already claimed by another. Do you understand?”

Nods of agreement, though reluctant, were given. “Go.”

And they went.


	6. Paths to tread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Esmeralda brings forward truths that Thorin would rather not hear.
> 
> But there are other truths in the forest to be found, and with them comes a terrible choice the company must make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have amazing art!!! A-Hobbit-At-Heart drew absolutely adorable Esmeralda and Tauriel art!!
> 
> http://bilboluckwearer.tumblr.com/post/59180517788
> 
> Go look go look go look!

The first night in the forest was a cold one. A low flame was built, under Gandalf’s careful eye, and though it burned higher than Thorin would have liked, fearing it would give them away, Gandalf seemed pleased with it. If the wizard was comfortable with how bright the fire was, then Thorin would not argue with him.

Bilbo knelt beside him. “How is it, even with a fire, I’m still chilled to my bones?” he asked.

Without speaking Thorin opened his great traveling coat and pulled Bilbo into his side. Dwalin snorted in amusement from across the camp, and Bilbo muttered something uncomplimentary but shifted in beside him. “Thank you,” he said, and Thorin shook his head.

“You could have asked, you know.”

“Why, when you knew what I was asking for?”

True enough. “Where is your bedroll?” Thorin asked, brow furrowing slightly as he searched near his own. His bedroll was laid near the edge of the camp, but it was alone, the closest one being Aragorn’s.

“I thought this venture a wonderful way to not have to sleep next to you and your snoring-“ and then Bilbo choked on a laugh when Thorin poked him in the side. Served him right; Thorin did not _snore_.

“Insufferable hobbit,” Thorin muttered, but when Bilbo pressed a kiss to his cheek, he gave a grin of his own. Watching Bilbo breathe easier, watching him actually _smile_ , left Thorin feeling so light he wondered how he could still feel the ground beneath him. This, at last, was his husband, the hobbit whose smile he relied on. If he could but give Bilbo moments like these forever. “Please tell me you remembered to bring your bedroll.”

“It’s right beside Esmeralda’s,” Bilbo told him. His smile fell as he glanced at his cousin. She was seated in front of the fire, helping Legolas and Gimli toss things into the small cooking pot. “I just…didn’t want to leave her alone.”

Sometimes, the strength and size of Bilbo’s heart could still leave him warm and blessed, even when that heart wasn’t aimed to comfort or please him. “I think she will appreciate that greatly; I know Tauriel will sleep close to her as well.” Even now, the elf was moving forward to join the others around the pot.

Bilbo hummed in agreement but made no effort to move. Thorin was in no hurry to make him; not when he had a warm husband pressed against his side.

Soon enough, the lure of food was too much for everyone, and they all drifted to the center of the camp. Esmeralda helped out in much the same way Bilbo had, on the first journey to Erebor, and Thorin knew now that this was the way of hobbits: to busy themselves and aid where they could, simply because they wanted to help. Even as they hurt within, they would still do anything in their power to help another.

And cook: hobbits could cook, and Esmeralda was a proud example of her people. Somehow, she’d taken the packed food and turned it into something far more lively, far more delicious than it had a right to be. “This is fantastic,” Kili said around a mouthful of stew. Legolas gave a fond grin in his husband’s direction.

“Spices,” Bilbo and Esmeralda said together. Even Aragorn smiled. “Spices make the difference,” Esmeralda continued when Bilbo gestured for her to speak instead of him. “Just a few favorites, that’s all. They were a wedding gift, a small one, from Saradoc.” Her face clenched in grief for a moment, and then she let out a sigh, a small smile on her lips. “I think he was half looking forward to eating something with the spices, if you want the truth,” she said at last, throwing a bit of cheer in her voice. Her smile was genuine, but it was tinged with sadness. “I suppose I’m lucky he didn’t gift me a barrel of Southfarthing leaf that he could ‘borrow’. Honestly.”

“He steals mine,” Kili said, nodding to Fili, and Esmeralda’s smile tried to even out. Fili rolled his eyes but did not dispute his brother’s claim. Thorin hadn’t raised them to tell falsehoods, after all.

The stew was consumed in quick order. After finishing, Tauriel moved to sit beside Esmeralda. “There may yet be others for you,” she said softly, and other conversations began to fade in order to listen to the elf’s words. “You could still find your heart’s desiring. You are still so young; you could remarry, if it is something your people encourage. You have many years-“

“Not that many,” Esmeralda cut in. She shook her head. “There’s only so many years in a lifetime.”

“You could still marry,” Dwalin rumbled, giving a nod in Tauriel’s direction. “Even if it took years to find someone your heart would yearn for, you could do it. You’ve many years left.”

“Perhaps another 75, 80 years,” she said.

The number, laid so bare and so _small_ , caught everyone’s attention. “But you’re barely of age!” Ori sputtered. “And your coming of age is so much younger than ours!”

“Because we don’t live as long. Your lives, compared to ours…it’s not like that, for hobbits,” Esmeralda said quietly. She wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled herself into a small ball. The fire cast a sharp light on her face, and she looked so fragile that Thorin wished he could offer her some form of comfort. “We have short lives. A little longer, perhaps, than men, not as long as dwarves, and we’ll never see eternity pass as the elves do. But it’s what you do with the years you’re given that counts, doesn’t it?”

From across the flames, Fili stilled. Legolas, too, had paused, gazing at her as if he’d never seen her before. Esmeralda didn’t notice their looks and continued on. “I’m still young, yes. Which Bilbo keeps reminding me of, as if _he_ were old or something.” She shook her head with a wry smile, ignoring her cousin’s rolled eyes. “He’s only 60; barely over half his life. He’s only got 25 years or something on me. It passes by so quickly, though. I just…I wanted my years to pass with someone. Even if they were just a friend.” She rested her chin on top of her knees. “That’s all,” she finished quietly.

There were a few times that Thorin felt as if he’d been physically struck by words. Her soft, gentle, almost playful words left him reeling, and he turned away from the others, fighting to maintain his composure. He had known, in his mind, that Bilbo was older, now. 60 was not even of age for a dwarf, but for a hobbit, it was well into the second half of one’s life. He had thought of it, he’d even known of it. But he hadn’t really _known_ it.

Over his shoulder, he could see Bilbo coming to join Esmeralda beside the fire. His beautiful, brave hobbit. His Bilbo, who’d braved the fires of Mordor and traveled alone, was going to risk his life again to seek out his cousins. The flames cast a red haze on Bilbo, as if he were on fire himself, and when he rested his head upon Esmeralda’s shoulder, he appeared lifeless.

The image was so startling that Thorin had to turn away again. A buzzing filled his ears, and he felt so dizzy he thought he would pass out. He pushed his feet against the ground and forced himself to breathe. He swayed, just slightly, but enough to make him tighten his muscles.

Slowly, the buzzing faded, and there was a soft murmur of conversation around him. Bilbo’s gentle, teasing voice came in, and Kili laughed while Esmeralda giggled. Alive. Not on fire, not dead. But Mahal, it had been every one of his fears dragged up from the past and brought to life.

Bilbo had so few years left. Thinking of Bilbo in danger, now, when Thorin had so little time left with him, left him with a stone rolling in his gut. All he wanted was peace. All he wanted was peace with his husband, to be with him, to not have to fear for his life with every breath he took. And though the past ten years had been without war, he’d still been forced to fear for Bilbo’s life again and again. He had been gifted good luck, in regards to Bilbo’s safety, but eventually, that luck would run out.

He just wanted _peace._ And he had fought for that peace for nigh on ten years now. Yet still it was denied to him. Still he was forced to face Bilbo’s mortality in the worst, most terrible ways.

He thought of the happy moment he’d had with Bilbo just a short time ago, of his husband tucked under his coat. And he wondered how many more times he would be allowed to have that before it all came crashing down upon him.

He forced himself to push the thoughts from his mind. He could not think about them. He just _couldn’t_. If he focused on that now, he’d get nowhere. Later. He would deal with his fears later.

Sleep came uneasily that night, nevertheless. His husband not lying beside him only made it all the harder.

  
  


It was nearly at the edge of Mirkwood a few days later when they heard voices. Thorin threw up his hand to call a halt, and everyone immediately stopped. Aragorn drew his horse quietly beside Thorin, Gimli seated in front of him, and both looked ready to charge at the slightest motion. At least, Gimli did. But how that was different from any other day, Thorin didn’t know.

The horses, though well trained, would be too loud in the brush. Thorin quickly dismounted, Bilbo already on the ground and heading for the trees. Silently the group crept closer until the voices began to make coherent sounds. Thorin resisted the urge to catch Bilbo and pull him back behind him. There was such a thing as attempting to be careful, one that Bilbo was ignoring in a very un-Bilbo like way. One that was leaving Thorin more nervous than ever, especially with the possibility of a ransom ringing in his mind.

A ransom made sense, and Thorin had agreed with Bilbo as to why his kin may have been taken. But no missive had arrived in Erebor before they’d left, no insistence on a sum of gold for the exchange of the hobbits. No, more and more Thorin had the terrible feeling it would all come down to his hobbit who even now was crouching and moving silently across the various leaves and sticks on the ground. Esmeralda, too, was scurrying through the brush after him, and thankfully Tauriel and Legolas were not far behind the hobbits. The lack of sunlight helped them to hide better amongst the thick leaves and branches that swooped down towards the ground, and never before had he been so grateful for the clouds above.

When the voices were loud enough to understand, Thorin stopped, and the company with him. Hidden by the trees and various bushes, they were able to focus their attention on the figures before them.

Tall men moved about in a small clearing that linked to a hidden path, pulling things from horses, as if to bed down for the day. “Could still move a bit further,” one of them said, and the answer came from someone else Thorin hadn’t expected.

“We’re to wait ‘ere until the order’s given,” the orc said, and though the man glared at it, he made no move to strike it down. Thorin stared in aghast horror. Men, working with orcs?

Worse yet came the sharp pain of betrayal when two dwarves moved into the small camp. “Order’s been given,” one of them said gruffly. “’Sides, all we’ve got to do is get to the docks. Collect the payment, move on.”

“Think we could keep part of it?” one of the men said, and the others looked to be pondering the idea. “She’d have her prize; could we take some? All that gold?”

Thorin focused on breathing evenly. Ahead of him, Bilbo looked as taut as Legolas’s bow when pulled with an arrow. So Bilbo had been right: this was about the gold that the thieves had attempted to take two years prior. The men and dwarves before him seemed of the same ilk as those whom they had contended with: scarred, filthy, no care for anything save for the gold waiting for them at the end.

He forced his other questions away as he listened.

“You try to take from ‘er and you’ll ‘ave your ‘ead off,” one orc insisted. It looked fearful, and Thorin’s gut twisted. “Nah. We get the prize at the docks, we take it to ‘er, we get paid our own share.”

“Can’t do _any_ of that until we get our orders,” a dwarf growled. He kicked the wheel of a cart, drawing hisses from several orcs. “Tired of this grub, tired of sleepin’ under trees for measly _hobbits_.”

Tauriel pressed a hand to Esmeralda’s shoulders even as Bofur moved in to stand beside them. Thorin risked shifting closer into the bushes to catch Bilbo by the ankle. His skin was warm, but not too much so, and Thorin tried to say everything he wanted to through that simple touch. _I’m sorry_ went with _I will not let them harm you_ and a touch of _I love you_ , the undercurrent of any message he sent.

A commotion caused the thieves to all look up, but thankfully not in the company’s direction. A man on a horse rode in, and he spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Prisoners are on their way home,” he announced, and Bilbo inhaled sharply. It was lost in the din of approving snarls from the thieves. “You need to get down to the docks. Payment will be shipped shortly, and your job is to haul it back to the den.”

“We know our job,” one of the orcs snapped. A few men chortled and nodded in agreement. “Just because you’re her favored pet doesn’t mean you’ve more brains than us.”

The man glared at the orc, his long dark hair combed and tied back smartly, his face clean, setting him instantly apart from the rest of the group. “Yet I’m the ‘favored’ one, and you’re doing the grub work,” he said. “What does that say about _you_?”

The orc gnashed its teeth and moved forward, but a dwarf swung his axe up to halt it. “We’ve not the time for this,” he said when the orc turned its rage towards him. “We’ve gold and a prize to catch.”

The man on the horse raised his nose and trotted back off through the forest. Slowly the men and dwarves began to pack up camp, and the orcs went to tend to their wargs. Thorin stayed still, quietly breathing through only his nose, until they were all gone. Once the band of thieves had departed, he felt safe enough to slowly move back and away, tugging at Bilbo’s leg once before letting go. The others were just as cautious to move, but when they were back at their horses, their movements were quicker. No one spoke for a long time.

Finally Fili cleared his throat. “So, that clears up everything and nothing at the same time,” he said, and the quick joke in his tone let Thorin breathe more easily. Even standing beside Bilbo, his husband breathing a little unsteadily from tension, Thorin couldn’t find himself able to completely relax. The words of the thieves had left him too unsettled, too full of questions.

Thankfully, Legolas voiced one of them, saving Thorin the trouble. “Who is ‘she’?” he asked. “She sounds as if she holds power.”

“And someone who holds power over orcs, dwarves, and men isn’t someone I want to mess with,” Balin said. He looked at Thorin, his gaze troubled. “But I’ve a feeling we’ll need to.”

Sooner and not later, most likely, given their luck. Thorin shook himself. “They spoke of taking the prisoners home,” he said. Bilbo glanced at him briefly before looking away. So he had thought of it, too. “Do you think they mean…?”

“The Shire?” Bilbo gave a terse nod. “I’m sure of it. If a group like them is taking Primula, Drogo, and Elodie back to the Shire, it’s not as a kindness.”

No, it only spelled disaster for the quiet, peaceful lands that the hobbits called home. Thorin felt a pang at the memory of losing his own home to Smaug so many years ago. Thinking of Bilbo’s homeland being lost to destruction, his kin slaughtered by orcs, only set his blood boiling. It _would not_ happen.

“Are we sure they weren’t talking about their home? Their own place they crawl back into at the end of the day?” Nori asked, causing Thorin to pause. “Because if they head back there instead, we could wipe them out, all in one blow.”

The idea was tempting. “They’ll head back to the Shire,” Bilbo insisted. “They spoke of their ‘den’ and the ‘home’ as different things. No, I’m positive they’ll go to the Shire.”

“But if we knew where they were hiding, we could stop them,” Fili said. “Uncle, you know we could.”

“Stop!” Gandalf ordered, and everyone quieted. He turned to Aragorn and Thorin, his gaze more serious than Thorin had ever seen it before. “Both are legitimate courses of action,” he continued. “But we cannot all do both. We must choose which path to take, and take it.”

“Could we make it to the Shire before they do?” Dwalin asked. “Any chance we could beat ‘em there?”

“There are paths through the mountain that are swifter on horse than on foot, yes,” Gandalf agreed. “But they are more widely known. We would have less chance of being spotted if we took a smaller, though slower, route.”

“They can’t be watchin’ all the roads at once,” Bofur protested. He stopped and glanced at Gandalf when the wizard didn’t respond. “Can they?” he asked, eyes wide.

It was all Thorin could do to not put his head in his hands. There was danger in every step they took, and no matter what they chose, it could end in tragedy. What had been a quick following through Mirkwood was already turning into something much bigger, something with not enough answers and too many questions. This did not sound like a few thieves who intended on burrowing into Erebor, much as Thorin had once hoped. This sounded too much like a clan of thieves, of ones who thought of more than just a simple payload. This had been planned, methodically put together one piece at a time. This had been targeted towards Erebor, towards Bilbo.

Yet there had been no sign of any thievery or danger for two years. Had they truly hidden that well? Had they kept to themselves, biding their time, until they could strike out at the most opportune moment? It hadn’t escaped his attention, either, that they had struck at Bilbo’s relatives. The other travelers had not been disturbed. They had not attacked Morwen, nor Aragorn, but the little hobbits of the Shire. The innocents.

No, this spoke of something much bigger, far more vast, than a simple theft. They wanted something more.

“They said something about gold and a prize,” Aragorn said, gazing at Thorin. “You mentioned thieves from several years ago. What had they wanted?”

“The Treasury, at the time,” Thorin said. “They mentioned no prize, then.”

“No, they did,” Bilbo said. He shook his head. “They simply never said what it was. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were…” He cut himself off, but the way his brow pinched together spoke volumes. Thorin knew what he would have said.

The Arkenstone.

He shook himself. They were jumping to conclusions when they were low on time as it was. “We must decide, and quickly,” he said, voice low and urgent. If they had any chance of following the thieves to whatever ‘docks’ they spoke of, or to their den, they had to leave now.

“What if we split up?” Kili said. He held up his hand when protests poured in. “Hear me out, hear me out. A small group of us follows the thieves. The rest of you go on to the Shire. Smaller groups move more quickly, so you could barrel down the known roads with more safety. We could track them and then send you a raven with details. We’d know where you were, easily enough.”

As much as Thorin wanted to disagree with his nephew, it was a logical, sound plan. He simply did not want to do it. “We’re safer together,” he argued, but Kili gave him a firm look, one that Thorin had seen in the mirror many times.

“We don’t have time to be safe, Uncle. We could rescue Primula and Drogo and the Shire but lose something else in the process. We have an upper hand: we can’t afford to lose it.”

“I’m going with Kili,” Fili said determinedly. As if there’d been another choice.

“I’m swift and silent; I’ll go with Kili as well,” Legolas added, and Thorin wondered when someone would say something not quite so obvious.

He wound up surprised with the next choice, at least, when Nori spoke. “I’ll go with them. We’re all quiet as quiet can be. Nice, small group to keep track of them.” He glanced at Dwalin. “You keep him safe,” he said with a nod towards Ori. Ori didn’t roll his eyes, but it appeared to be a near thing.

“The rest of us will go to the Shire, then,” Thorin said. He grasped Bilbo’s shoulder, speaking quietly once his husband had looked over to him. “You and I will go together, this time. I won’t be parted from you.”

Bilbo gave a half smile. “Good. I’ll warn you; trouble tends to follow me like a duckling follows its mother.”

Again with speaking things Thorin already knew. “Then let us be off,” Gandalf said. “Spread out over the horses. We will stop in Rivendell to tell Lord Elrond of what has transpired and to leave some of the horses there with him.”

Kili and Fili turned away, and Thorin suddenly called them back. When they stopped, confusion on their faces, Thorin took them in his arms and held them tightly. “Be safe,” he murmured. Though they were well past their coming of age now, they were still his sister-sons. Losing them was a fear that would never truly separate from his heart.

They wrapped themselves around him, just as eager to hold on. “You too,” Fili said, and Kili could only nod. But when they stepped back, they were determined young dwarves once more, power in their stances and gazes. They had grown so much, over the years. And Thorin was proud to have seen it happen.

“There’s no point to our taking the horses,” Nori said, pulling his pack from the horse he’d shared with Bofur. “We’ll need to be more silent than that.”

“How will you keep up with them?” Esmeralda asked, confusion on her face. Tauriel helped her up and back onto her horse, and she looked uncomfortable at the height. At least she was with Tauriel, and that was a small comfort indeed. Thorin only wished he had better news for her, and for Bilbo, too.

“They’re taking carts,” Kili told her. “They’ll be moving at a pace we can follow. We’ll keep up, no worries there.”

No, that was nowhere near the biggest worry that Thorin had. But before he knew it, the four were gone, moving quick and quietly through the forest. He told himself the twirling in his gut had everything to do with a hastily eaten meal from earlier and nothing to do with the spike of fear as he watched them disappear.

A hand caught his, and Thorin didn’t even need to feel the familiar ring to know whose hand it was. He’d been holding it for nigh on ten years now. He would know his husband anywhere. “They’ll be all right,” Bilbo promised in a hushed tone. “Four are safer than two.”

“One would think that we would learn to not separate,” Thorin murmured. “Nothing good ever comes of it.”

“Would fate be so kind,” Aragorn said quietly, coming to stand beside them. “If anyone could do their mission and do it well, however, I know it would be your sons. With Legolas and Nori, their success is all but assured.”

Thorin took the words for the compliment that they were and gave a sharp nod of thanks. It was not their abilities he held mistrust for, no, but fate.

“We will take follow the river over the Old Ford,” Gandalf said, “and follow the road through the mountains. The High Pass would be easier, but I would not dare take a horse through it. No, we will follow its smaller, though still broad, twin in the valley below. Keep your ears and eyes aware: the path is a well known one. If they are so daring as to come out in broad daylight, they would not hesitate to guard the pass…or the road below it.”

“Least we won’t have to deal with the stone giants, this time,” Bofur said. Thorin watched as Esmeralda’s eyes went wide.

“We didn’t see stone giants when we took the High Pass! Are they really, well, real?”

Bofur’s response, to go pink in the cheeks and duck under his hat, was so unlike the dwarf that Thorin could do nothing more than blink in dumb silence. “Ah, well, they are, actually,” Bofur said. He sounded much like Kili or Fili would have, when they said something they had not intending to say out loud. Except Bofur typically never sounded that way. Bofur stood by what he said, be it serious promises or tongue-in-cheek humor.

Esmeralda looked excited for the first time since they’d begun the quest. “All Bilbo said was that they were terrifying,” she said, and she leaned so far over in order to move within earshot of Bofur that Tauriel was forced to catch her around the waist. “Were they? Were they truly?”

“Onward,” Gandalf said, mounting his steed once more. Thorin did the same, pulling Bilbo up with a simple hand. Bofur still sounded as if he were stumbling over words behind them, but Thorin would puzzle it out later. As far as questions that needed to be answered went, he had more urgent ones at the forefront of his mind, such as why the thieves would return Bilbo’s kin to their homeland. What could they gain from going to the Shire?

Unless the Shire itself was the prize. Thorin gripped the reins of his horse a little more tightly. “Has anyone ever tried to take the Shire before?” he asked his husband. Any movement forward was brought to a quick stop. Even Gandalf paused, waiting for the answer.

Bilbo shook his head. “Not in my lifetime. Not in a very long time. The land has always been ours, and we’ve traded equally with anyone who’s wanted the food or the plants in it. The Shire isn’t a kingdom, it has no treasure beyond good food and leaf, no one’s ever _needed_ the Shire.” He looked more troubled than before, and Thorin ran an apologetic hand up and down his arm. He hadn’t intended on upsetting his husband any more than he already was. But the question had to be asked, and he could see the thought now on everyone’s faces.

For though the hobbits saw only what the Shire could offer in terms of farms and orchards, orcs wanted nothing more than to pillage, to make slaves of any they could put beneath them. The men and, Mahal help him, the dwarves Thorin had seen were no better. They would devastate the Shire, take personal slaves from those who were hardy and able. The rest they would slaughter.

“Gandalf, go,” Aragorn urged, as if thinking the same thoughts, and Gandalf took off, leading them through the forest at a rapid pace. Branches flew by, threatening to whip at their faces, but Thorin had no care for them. No, all he could see were the bright and friendly faces who had wished him and Bilbo well after they had married, of the warm lights in the tent as they had all celebrated the wedding, of the heart’s tree he had been wed beneath. He could only see Bilbo’s bright eyes from the hanging lamps, the smile on his face, the feeling of his hands in Thorin’s.

Then it was all in flames, all of it, the orcs and men and dwarves burning and killing and tearing it all apart.

His mind drifted to his earlier thoughts and memories. When Erebor had been taken, there had been a darkness in Thorin’s heart, an angry fear, one that had lasted through the years. It had left him cold and hollow, unable to see the good in outsiders for fear that no help would be given, no aid would come. He had learned to trust in himself, in the few who had been sincere and loyal, in those who had been kin. Then he had met Bilbo, and he’d learned to feel, to trust, once more.

But when he thought of the orcs taking the Shire, when he thought of whoever ‘she’ was tearing apart the innocent lives that lived in Hobbiton, his rage was bright and burning and refused to be tempered. He could feel Bilbo in front of him, body as hard as steel, all but trembling. He could only imagine the thoughts running through his mind, of the kin he could lose, of whatever Bilbo was most certainly blaming himself for.

He leaned forward to put his lips to Bilbo’s ear, lest the wind take his words. “I will not let them take the Shire,” he murmured. “I swear to you, beloved.”

Bilbo’s head jerked forward once, just enough to acknowledge that he’d heard Thorin. Then Thorin put all his focus on guiding his horse as the forest began to give way to open plains and the Misty Mountains that rose high above them in the not so far distance.


	7. Messages of danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dernwyn and Dis receive a coded message by raven from Fili. Fili and his small company continue to follow the thieves.

“Mama, can I ‘ave a biscuit?”

“ _Have_ ,” Dernwyn said, leaving Hildili to pout. “ _Have_.” Hildili was going to start focusing on her speech, whether she liked it or not. Between her natural lisp as her grown teeth came in, and her age preventing her from speaking as crisply as an adult could, the last thing Dernwyn needed was a drawl in there, too.

And she didn’t even want to think about what else Hildili was learning from the guards in regards to language. _That_ had been a moment to remember: she hadn’t known Dwalin could turn that particular shade of red before. Even Thorin had been left sputtering, and the guards had been given a stern lecture as to what kind of language they should be using around the little ones, whether they were Dernwyn’s children or any other children in the mountain.

Hildili screwed up her face as if she were about to bite into something unpleasant. “ _Have_ ,” she repeated diligently.

“Good. Now: ‘May I _have_ a biscuit?’”

She got a confused look for that. “Why do you ‘ave to ask me? You can reach the biscuits, I can’t.”

From the corner, Morwen snorted a laugh. Dernwyn gave her a very unimpressed look and turned back to her still perplexed child. “No, you’re to ask _me_ : ‘May I _have_ a biscuit?’”

“Oh,” Hildili said, before sighing. “May I ‘ave a biscuit?”

Dernwyn forced herself to not shut her eyes tightly. “What did you forget?” she asked instead.

She could see Hildili running through the options in her mind, ticking off the words and wondering what she’d missed. After a moment, she made an ‘ah-ha!’ face that was all Fili. “Please?” she asked.

Close enough for today. Dernwyn reached up behind her and caught the tin of biscuits, bringing them down to the wide and eager eyes of her daughter. “Two, you may have two,” Dernwyn warned. They were due down in the dining hall for lunch in a short time.

Holdred hurried over, reaching his hand into the tin. “Did you forget to ask something?” Dernwyn said, raising her eyebrow.

“Can I have one? Please?” he said, stressing the first letter of ‘have’ in a way his sister couldn’t. Hildili ignored him, too wrapped up in her biscuit. Holdred turned resigned eyes to his mother. “I tried,” he said.

“We all have,” Dernwyn said, but she offered him the open tin. Eventually, Hildili would catch it. And somewhere in there, she might even teach her manners, which her dwarven father was insistent upon ruining whenever he got the chance.

She found her heart twisting at the thought of Fili out there alone, and forced herself to breathe. He wasn’t alone, he was with Kili and Bilbo and Legolas and Thorin and Ori and he would be _fine_. Dwalin would cut down anyone that got close enough to harm any of them. And Ori would cut down anyone that got close enough to hurt Dwalin, so truly she had no reason to fear.

“Perhaps _you_ need a biscuit,” Morwen said, drawing her from her thoughts. Off to the side, Théoden and Théodwyn were watching the little ones play, amused smiles on their faces. Once, that had been Dernwyn, watching Théodwyn and Théoden play in much the same way. Now they were watching her children, hers and Fili’s, and bother it all, he was going to be all she could think of.

“I need a Fili,” she said. Her eyes glanced to her sword, hanging by the door, then resolutely back at what she’d been doing: reviewing various parchments to take to the Council. “I don’t suppose you have one of those to offer me, do you?”

Morwen chuckled and sat down beside her on the bench. She handed the tin over, and Dernwyn took one of the biscuits after a moment. “No, but I do have a few words of advice, if you would hear them.” She waited until Dernwyn gave a nod before continuing. “Share your thoughts, your pains, and your troubles with others. You would listen to others, and you have, in the past; why would they not listen now when you have need of an ear or a solid shoulder?”

True, wise words. Words that Dernwyn needed to hear. Still, she felt foolish for voicing them. “They’re only the same fears I had before I married him,” she said softly. “You heard them, the day of the wedding.” She wished she could say that she had grown past them, but now, with Fili no longer in the mountain, those same fears had reared their ugly heads once more. She was in the place she’d wished to never be: left behind with two children to raise and unable to do a thing to help him.

The only consolation was knowing that somewhere out there, Fili still breathed, and had the full intention of returning to her.

“Fears are not reasonable or so easily pushed away,” Morwen said with all the wisdom of her age and experience. “And you have more reason than most to fear.” She paused, as if warring with herself, before speaking. “I still miss Thengel,” she admitted quietly. Dernwyn forced herself to remain still and not give in to the guilt that waited just around the corner of her heart. “I still remember fearing for him when he went out. And when it finally happened, the worst thing I could ever imagine…”

She glanced at her children, where they were now actively playing with Holdred and Hildili, and she gave a sad smile. “I was still left alive with my blessings, all my children. I see Thengel in Théoden's gaze, hear him in Théodwyn's laughter. My world did not end with him, Dernwyn. I was surrounded by kin who loved me and my children. I was not abandoned, I was not forced to raise them on my own. My grief was shared with them and soothed by them.”

Dernwyn felt her nose and eyes begin to burn, a sure sign that tears would gather if she didn’t focus on something else. She moved to the tin, rearranging the biscuits within it and settling the lid back on. Morwen let her until she was able to breathe evenly again. “You would not be alone,” Morwen told her. “You have not only kin in Rohan who would swiftly ride to your aid, but you have a family here in the mountain.” She smiled. “Your mother here would still hold you in her arms if Fili was lost. I have a feeling she would hold to you all the more tightly if it happened.

“And that is _if_ it happened. Fili is protected by not only his kin, but his age: he is young and more than capable of defending himself. I have a feeling he would fight all the harder if it meant being back by your side.” She patted Dernwyn on the shoulder before pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “Just know that your fears are well-founded, but no matter what happens, you will not be alone.”

As terrible as the thought of Fili not being there was, it was a small comfort, to hear it. “Thank you,” she said. She felt so overwhelmingly blessed, sometimes; for someone who had lost her parents young, she had been given two father figures and two mothers to walk her through her life. Even Thorin and Bilbo, though technically her ‘uncles’ by marriage, were strong stones to stand upon in times of trouble.

Dori bustled into the room, a parchment in his hands. “For you and Dis, by raven,” he said, and as if her name had summoned her, Dis came through the doors right behind him. Her hair was done up in the style of the royal courts, not a strand out of place, and her dress was powerful in color and adornment. Her crown only finished the image of a leader, and a strong one at that.

Yet she tossed the crown away, snagging hairs from her braids, and all but tore her dress to hurry to Dernwyn’s side as the paper was unrolled. “It just arrived this morning,” Dori said. He seemed just as anxious as they were, and Dernwyn could only imagine how he felt. Both of his brothers out in the wild again, and he left to help maintain Erebor. She was grateful he was, however: all of the guilds had been peaceful – as peaceful as they could be, at least – under his watchful eye. She didn’t even want to think about the troubles they would’ve had to maintain if he’d left, too.

And then it was all about the scroll that Dernwyn had to read twice to ensure she understood it correctly:

_Safe. Divided, two paths: one to Children of the West, one to unknown seas. The dragon’s death was but a beginning rumor. The story will continue to be told. Keep to the gates._

It was Fili’s hand, that much was certain, but never before had her husband so confused her. “Explain to me what my son means,” Dis said, looking equally as bewildered. “Children of the West?”

“The hobbits,” Morwen said after a moment of thinking. “Rangers often refer to them as the Kindly Children of the West.”

Wait. “They’re going to the Shire?” Théodwyn asked, rising from her place with the children. Théoden remained seated with them, but his attention was on the growing tension. “What reason would they have for that? And why could he not have just said that?”

“Because there’s still danger, and it’s not safe to speak.” Dernwyn bit her lip. One to unknown seas? The sea was south, not west. “They’ve split up.”

“Oh, because _that_ ends well,” Dis said dryly. “I don’t even want to think about the circumstances that would lead to them doing that.”

Nor did Dernwyn. “And what about the dragon part? ‘The dragon’s death was but a beginning rumor’?”

Dori made a soft noise, and all eyes turned to him. He fidgeted and held out his hand for the parchment. Only after his eyes crossed over it at least three times did he sigh and hand it back to Dernwyn. “That was meant for me,” he said. “On our first journey, to reclaim Erebor, we had been told a rumor that Smaug was dead. Then we found out not only was he alive, but awake, and far more dangerous than we had hoped for. Then the elves and men came, asking for gold…”

Dernwyn didn’t need to be told the rest. She knew what came after that. Her own part in the story had come not long after those events. “Story,” she murmured. “A story unfolds. There’s more to it, more than he can say here.” It was more complicated than he could safely send with a raven, which meant something had happened. Something far more dangerous than they had anticipated.

“It was worse than they had hoped, is what you’re saying,” Éomund said. Dori nodded.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Unfortunately.”

No one needed to discuss what ‘Keep to the gates’ meant. “I’ll see to the guards on rotation and ensure there are at least three more on each shift,” Dis said. “If I need to, I’ll ask Dril to look for recruitments. I would happily spend the gold and put it into the hands of the people it’s meant to help.”

“Would you rather if we stayed?” Morwen asked her. “We had planned to leave by the end of the week, but we can also remain, if you have need of us.”

Dis smiled and took Morwen’s hand in both of hers. “And I am grateful for it, more than I have words to say. But in this instance, I would think you safer going back to Rohan. Whatever is happening is happening far west of here. If you were safely back with your people, to better defend them in the possible case of trouble, I would be much more at ease. Wait until the end of the week, to see if another message from Fili comes. If there is no change, keep to your plans.”

“We have enough able Rohirrim to guard our villages and people,” Morwen said, her eyes kind but her body as strong as a bar of steel. “If you would ask it of me, I would send Erebor help.”

“It may come to that,” Dis said, “it may just come to that.”

Dernwyn let her eyes fall to the parchment in her hands. As troubling as the rest of the words were, and the various messages held within, her eyes drifted to the first word there, the word Dernwyn knew was for her.

 _Safe_.

She would have to believe in that.

  
  


“You know Mother’s going to lose her mind over that note, once she figures it out.”

Fili merely gave a nod, eyes on the thieves. They’d stopped for a rest after a grueling few days at a harsh pace. Even Legolas had looked at their horses with longing a time or two, wishing they had horses of their own. Hopefully their horses were almost through the mountains. Hopefully his uncles would make it to Rivendell and the Shire safely.

“I doubt it’s Dis he needs to worry about,” Nori replied to Kili. “Dernwyn’s just as dangerous as your mum.”

The grass beneath where he was seated suddenly seemed more interesting than the thieves. It gave Fili a chance to pull himself together, at least, without the others seeing. Not that they didn’t know that something was wrong: it was the whole reason they were chatting softly amongst themselves, sometimes serious, sometimes teasing. But none of them knew what the matter was.

Legolas, perhaps, did. For he’d engaged in conversation a short bit, but otherwise left Fili alone. He’d stayed by Kili’s side instead, and for a moment, Fili was so intensely jealous of him that he wanted to punch Legolas in the arm. Knowing Legolas, he’d just let him and not say a word, and then Fili would feel badly. And it wasn’t his elf-brother’s fault that his wedded one was there with him and Fili’s wasn’t.

Though Dernwyn being there would only leave Fili feeling worse.

Esmeralda’s words kept needling at him, though. Dernwyn was young by dwarven standards, but by the age of men was well past her years of youth. She would age more rapidly than he would. And in the end, he would most likely live another hundred years without her.

Mahal’s beard, this was something he should’ve had to deal with another seventy, eighty years down the road, not _now_. But the words, spoken softly by Bilbo’s cousin, had put such a fear in his heart that he couldn’t shake it. The thought of Dernwyn growing old wasn’t a terrible one in and of itself: she would look beautiful with silver hair, her face wrinkled with laugh lines. But they were supposed to be old together, his aged hand in hers, and he would be younger than Thorin when she passed on. He’d be left to face the ages without her.

He swallowed hard and shut his eyes. His heart was a staccato rhythm in his chest, and he forced his breaths to even out. It wasn’t calming, the thought of losing her far too close in his mind, but after a moment his breaths were longer and steadier. For all he knew, he could lose her to a battle, the way events were unfolding. There was a reason he’d told them to watch the gates of Erebor.

“You all right?”

Kili’s voice, right in his ear, was more comforting than surprising. “No,” Fili said, and if Kili was startled at his honesty or the rasp in his voice, he showed no sign of it. “Just…hard truths. Ones I didn’t want to have to face.” What he wouldn’t have given in order to see Dernwyn and his children right then and there. He was grateful they weren’t there, however. They didn’t belong in the bleakness of the forest. As cleared as the northern stretch of woods were, the southern forests still had more than enough spiders about. And even now, he could feel something unsettled deep in his bones, something that had nothing to do with Dernwyn.

Legolas, too, seemed to sense it, and gave him a grim nod. “We’re near to Dol Goldur. Too close. Though Sauron is vanquished, he left an imprint upon that place, one that will take many years to erase.”

A task for another generation. Fili was done with dark lords and cursed places. “They’re moving,” Nori said, and they rose to their feet. The carts were moving again, the orcs leading on wargs at a quick pace. They weren’t being silent about it, and their crashing through the trees and brush easily covered any noise that Fili and the others might make. It would be harder to hide, once they were out in the Wold.

They would find a way. They had to. Fili had a horrible feeling in his gut that whatever the thieves were after, it would only lead to something terrible.


	8. Landslide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The valley offers dangers. Yet another fouler danger still lurks, planning, waiting.

The fog rolled in on the fourth day through the mountains. At a full gallop, it hadn’t taken long to get to the Misty Mountains, nor to the valley that cut through it. Up above, the stones appeared to be silent and still, but Bofur knew better. He’d seen them up close and personal once, and the once had been enough.

Waiting for a potential attack wasn’t much better, though. Though their pace was a fast and steady one, there was only so fast one could go through the rocky terrain, and only so fast one could take the horses. He could see it in Gandalf’s furrowed brow, Aragorn’s pursed lips, the hand Thorin constantly kept on the hilt of Orcrist. No movement for several days, no sighting of any thieves or other travelers, had made them all wary.

Not enough to dampen Bofur’s cheer, though. Especially not now.

“I _swear_ I won’t tell anyone what it is.”

Bofur just grinned and kept whittling. Esmeralda gave a huff and crossed her arms, but it only left her looking all the cuter, a sentiment he was sure she wouldn’t appreciate. “I’m wonderful at keeping secrets, you know-“

“You are _not_ ,” Bilbo said, glancing back at her. Though his voice was pitched low, Bofur could still hear what he said. “You’re dreadful at it. In fact, you were the easiest way to share a message around the Shire: just tell you and everyone would know by nightfall.”

Esmeralda’s cheeks went pink and she stuck her tongue out at her cousin. Tauriel grinned, a bright and happy thing to behold, and even the two kings and wizard were hard pressed not to smile. “I wasn’t nearly that bad,” she said. “I promise I won’t tell anyone what it is you’re carving!”

Bilbo had been right: a Took’s curiosity was a dreadful curse. Fortunately, it was a curse for the Took and not for those who encouraged it, like Bofur was, if just to have her speak to him. “I’ll tell you when it’s done,” he said for what had to be the sixth time just that day. In truth, he would’ve happily told her, if it hadn’t been _for_ her. He’d been torn between giving her what he'd been carving or not before leaving Erebor, but upon hearing more and more of her tale, he’d finally given into his urgings and focused on making the item hers. He thought it was quite the accomplishment: to ride a horse while carving. That probably had more to do with the horse’s skill than his, but still, he hadn’t lopped off a finger yet, and he hadn’t fallen off the horse. Good signs all around.

Esmeralda gave another huff but settled back down onto the horse. It was a more sedate pace they were taking today, in deference to the small slopes and uneven parts of the path that they were traveling. Yesterday had been all about speed, taking large runs with only a few short breaks in between. But now the path had narrowed, and there was evidence of old rockslides around them. Nothing too recent, but they still kept an eye out for any movement, ears to any sound.

“How close is it to bein’ done?” Dwalin asked. It only served to encourage Esmeralda’s curiosity, if the way she looked to Bofur for an immediate answer was any clue. Bilbo gave Dwalin an exasperated glare, and Thorin merely gave his husband a sympathizing pat on the shoulder.

“Close enough,” Bofur replied enigmatically. Esmeralda settled back on her horse reluctantly. It almost made him want to speak more, but he was still worried he’d put his big old boot in his mouth somehow. He’d been startled when she’d spoken to him, as the company had first split, and he’d been left stammering and stuttering in a way he’d never been before. She’d continued to speak with him, asking questions, and slowly they’d begun to converse, his tongue loosening after he’d realized she simply wanted someone to talk to. With his horse beside theirs, he made a perfect conversant.

He was trying to ignore the fact that she could speak with Tauriel if she so desired and was instead speaking to him. It wasn’t good for his heart.

But the truth of it was that she’d started talking to him, and Saradoc had been a friend, not her heart’s desiring – not _yet_ at least – and Bofur would at least not be completely out of turn in presenting her with his gift, with at least being her friend. And perhaps, one day, if they remained friends and her heart wasn’t taken…perhaps making his intentions known.

Because his heart was still wrapped around her like a strand of gold wrapped around a vein of mithril. Every day he spent beside her, watching her, listening to her voice, hearing her tales and what she had to say, it only left him feeling all the more besotted. Oh, Bombur would be having a laughing fit at him right now if he knew. He was fairly certain Dwalin knew, and the only reason the dwarf hadn’t said anything was because of Balin. Or Ori. Maybe both of them. He didn’t know if Bilbo knew.

What if Bilbo didn’t approve? Oh Mahal, he hadn’t thought of that. Sure, Bilbo was one of his dearest friends, and he Bilbo’s, but that didn’t mean that Bilbo would think him suitable for his little cousin. It was clear that he was protective of her, that she was like a younger sibling to him. He felt like dragging his hat over his head to bury his face in. He wasn’t even going to _offer_ his intentions, and here he was, worrying about her kin.

The gentle tapping of stones upon stones paused his thoughts and stilled his hands. The others continued on, having not heard, but Bofur knew that sound. He glanced around for the source but found nothing. He quietly went back to carving but said, “You should see the _rocks_ I’ve carved; they make a joyous sound when I’m done and they’re _sliding_ all about.”

All the dwarves sat up straighter, and those who didn’t understand still caught the tension. “Where,” Balin muttered from behind him.

“Off to th’right, I think,” Bofur said quietly. Thorin gave a tight nod and kept his horse marching onward. Bilbo was trying to not look back at his cousin and all but failing at it. Bofur nudged his horse next to Esmeralda’s and saw Tauriel’s hands already off the reins, fingers just waiting to catch her bow and an arrow.

Silence echoed through the valley. The fog made it harder to see too far above them, but Bofur couldn’t make out any shapes in the crests. No more rocks slid, and though he strained to hear, no more taps were heard.

A harsh rumble of rocks behind them was all the warning they got before the orcs were there. “Go!” Aragorn shouted, and Tauriel shot her horse forward past Thorin and Aragorn, who were both turning around. Bofur hurried his horse onward to catch up with Tauriel’s. Esmeralda was gripping the horse’s mane as best she could, and Tauriel was already turning to fire an arrow behind her.

Orcs appeared out of the fog ahead of them. “Tauriel!” Esmeralda shouted, and Tauriel’s next shot swung over the hobbit’s head to those approaching. She took out three orcs before they were close enough to swing their blades, but Bofur was ready and waiting. He threw himself off of his horse and into the fray, his mattock clearing the area around their horses. No one was getting close to Esmeralda again. _No_ one.

“Bofur-!”

He turned halfway through Esmeralda’s cry and watched the orc drop by a single arrow. “Nice shot,” he said to Tauriel, throwing her a grin. An orc shouted behind him, and he didn’t even pause, simply swung his mattock back behind him before finally turning to look. Straight through the chest.

“Good swing,” she returned, and reached for a nearby orc corpse to pull an arrow free. Bofur caught two more arrows for her and returned them in time to see only three orcs ahead of them. By his weapon they fell, and though he peered through the fog, no more seemed to be coming. The sounds of the fight were behind them, not ahead.

“Go back,” Esmeralda said, gritting her teeth. “Tauriel, Bofur, we have to go back.”

“Your cousin’ll skin me alive,” Bofur told her, and if there was ever going to be a reason why Bilbo disapproved of Bofur and Esmeralda, it’d be leading her back into the fight.

“Hard for him to do that if he’s dead,” she said, and though the pain in her eyes was a remembered grief, her mouth was still set in determination. Thinking of Bilbo dead by the hands of an orc was enough for Bofur: he raced back, mattock swinging high and into an orc’s skull as it tried to creep up on Balin. Balin nodded his thanks and took out another orc coming up to his left.

“Death to the thieves!” an orc shrieked, and those remaining took up the cry.

“We’re not _thieves_!” Ori shouted, and Dwalin cast his husband a bewildered gaze.

“Are you seriously tryin’ to _reason_ with ‘em?”

An orc waggled its tongue at them, drawing two short and broken blades. “We know what you lot are,” it hissed. “Traitors and thieves, the lot of you! We’ll get it back!” It charged forward with a cry, and Thorin’s blade struck it down before it came anywhere close to his horse, where Bilbo was still seated. Another orc ran forward with a crazed cry, and Bilbo hurled fairly large stones at it, catching it perfectly in the head, stunning it enough to allow Aragorn to finish it.

“Good aim,” Balin said when Dwalin had finished the last orc off.

“The best I can do, since _someone_ won’t let me down,” Bilbo said, giving Thorin a look. Thorin shook his head.

“I will do all I can to keep you safe. It is not your skill I fear for, beloved, and you know that.”

Bilbo finally sighed and tossed the stones back into a pouch at his side. “Doesn’t make it any easier to sit up here while you risk your life,” he groused, and Thorin gave a half smile.

“If it means keeping you safe, I’ll suffer it.”

“Is no one going to care that it called us thieves?” Ori said, and Bofur thought he looked fairly put out about it. “We’re not thieves!”

“I think what my husband is tryin’ to ask is why the orcs want to kill thieves,” Dwalin said. He wiped the end of his warhammer on one of the dead orcs. “Thought the orcs were sidin’ with them.”

Aragorn, after cleaning his sword, slid it back into his sheath. “It sounded as if the thieves stole something from them. I have never heard of separate factions of orcs, however. Uruk-hai and orcs, yes, they’ll fight one another. But orcs on very separate sides?” He shook his head. “This leaves an ill feeling in my gut.”

In Thorin’s, too, if the look on his face was any indication. “I’ve seen orcs turn on each other before,” Bilbo said. “But Aragorn’s right: I’ve never seen them fight against each other. If these orcs were against the thieves we saw, we would almost be like…like _allies_.”

Bofur stared. Thorin looked as if he’d bitten into something sour. “The world changes day by day in strange ways,” Gandalf murmured. Louder, he said: “I would not go so far as to call them allies…not just yet, anyway. We must hasten to Rivendell. Hopefully Lord Elrond can shed more light upon this matter.”

“Then we’ll get onward to the Shire right quick enough, too,” Gimli said. He spun his axe and put it in its leather hold upon his back. “We’ll not let a few orcs slow us down!”

“May he never lose his energy,” Balin murmured. Bofur grinned.

Soon they were back up on their horses, and Gandalf rode to the front. “It may be wise to ride in a condensed formation, as much as is possible,” he said. “For I’ve no doubt there are more orcs around. Perhaps, if we meet with others, we may gather more information. Aragorn, if you and Gimli will take the rear, please. Thorin, you and Bilbo ride to the front.”

Bofur flanked Tauriel and Esmeralda while Balin took the other side. Dwalin, after a quick conference with Thorin, rode to the back to stand beside Aragorn and Gimli. Their small caravan sorted, they set out once more, hurrying as much as the terrain would allow. Down a small slope ahead, Bofur could see the path widening out. And though he couldn’t see it yet, he knew there was a valley waiting for them, filled with elves and true allies.

“No more carving, I suppose,” Esmeralda said, but her tone was no longer light and teasing. Her words hadn’t been a question.

Bofur shook his head. “Not for a bit. But when we reach Rivendell, I might be able to finish it up.” Then he could gift it to her, perhaps.

The small smile on her face made him all the more determined to finish his gift before they left for the Shire. After Rivendell, there’d be few chances for her to smile, and he was determined to give her a reason to. Even if it was just a small one of kindness for his efforts.

They rode on.

  
  


In the darkness, a crow of triumph was heard, and a small, shining token was held aloft. One more rediscovered, and it was beautiful.

Footsteps on stone echoed through the room. “Are you pleased?” a voice asked.

Her lips turned up into a wide smile. “Yes,” she said. “Yes I am.” She turned her prize around with her long fingers, watching it catch the light with each pass it made.

The man cleared his throat and brushed a hand over his dark, slicked back hair. “They worked hard to find it. I didn’t let them rest for a minute. But…now they’re asking about their share. What they deserve-“

“Then kill them. We have new recruits every day, deserters from the villages of men, dwarves from the mountains, orcs from…wherever they’ve been hiding for the past decade.”

“But-“

“Stop whining, Lenegar. It doesn’t suit you.” She turned to him and flexed her hand, long nails shimmering like a dragon’s scales. Her green eyes stared him down. “Or do you doubt that we will have the treasure we seek?”

“I-I wouldn’t doubt,” he stammered. “Not at all.” He paused. “I only wondered if there was something I could but share with them. To put _their_ doubting hearts to rest.”

She smirked, but it was not a kind one. Slowly she sashayed through the room to her lounging chaise. Once seated and spread out, she lifted her prize into the air again. It caught the light once more, and she glanced at Lenegar. “Have you ever played a game of strategy?” she asked him.

“My brother did, as a child. I was never any good at it.”

She hummed and placed her eyes back to the glittering object in her hand. “There is no trick to playing a game such as that. Anyone can play. But only one can win. And the trick to winning is that you have to think of multiple things at once. If you show your opponent what your move is, they will all know what you intend to do and rush to cut you off.” With a flick of her hand the item flew up into the air. Just as it was about to land in her palm, she caught it with her other hand. “You’ll never win if you have only one goal in mind.

“ _But_. If you plan to divert them, if you plan to sweep them off the board, you must give them a fake win. A false hope.” She tossed the item into the air again, but this time it landed neatly in her palm. Only then did she turn to Lenegar. “That is how you _win_ a game of strategy. Have you heard any other news?”

“A band heads south; I have heard nothing from those who head west.”

She nodded. “When you have heard from the west, we begin.”

“What of the…the one Halfling? The one who vanished into the forest?”

“She is of no consequence,” she said, waving her hand. “She knows nothing. I would have preferred another carrot to dangle, but then again, I would have preferred to dangle _all_ the little carrots. I don’t, however, have that luxury.” She pinned Lenegar with a glare, and he swallowed hard.

“They’ve been warned to not harm the Halflings. Not after what happened during the capture.”

“Good. I have no want or need to tip my hand so soon.”

A flurry of footsteps made Lenegar turn swiftly, blade in hand, but it was only a man, panting heavily from the run. “My lady,” he said, “a missive from the west. They have arrived and are taking swift control.”

Her teeth glinted in the light. “Good; you may go.” As the man hurried away, she turned to Lenegar. “The next step begins now. You know what to do.”

Lenegar nodded and gave a swift bow. He took her hand and pressed a long kiss to the back of her hand. “My _queen_ ,” he said, and she smiled broadly at him. He left her then, and she leaned backwards to admire the item in her hand. Long years of wanting, of waiting, and finally she would have what she deserved.

“Finally,” she murmured. “The outcast returns home.”


	9. Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond offers warnings as they continue to the Shire.
> 
> Bofur offers Esmeralda a token.

“I do not know how I can aid you.”

Aragorn felt his heart slowly sink in his chest. “You must know about the orcs,” he said. “Elrond, you must.”

Elrond let out a long sigh as he contemplated his next words. Around them, Rivendell shone, even in the fading light. They had been greeted by elves at the borders and quickly ushered in to safety. When Lord Elrond had waited for them, more solemn than Aragorn had ever seen him before, he had known that they would find answers here.

But it seemed not to be.

“I know that there have been increased orc attacks around the mountains,” Elrond said. “And there were rumors of an orc band going further west-“

“They have,” Bilbo said, speaking up at last. “At least, we’re fairly certain they have. They have my cousins with them.”

For a moment, Elrond shut his eyes, pained. “Forgive me,” he said quietly. “We did not see them, and the rumors came late. When we searched around our borders, we found nothing. Long has it been since orcs have come over the mountains.”

“You didn’t know,” Gandalf said. “None of us did. Not until we had departed from Erebor, at least.”

Thorin moved around the vast table they were gathered at in order to better see the map. It was Elrond’s largest table, his map of Arda, where he took private counsel. As soon as Elrond had heard about the orcs, he had ushered them all in, offering Esmeralda a place to sit, if she so desired. Esmeralda had accepted, but had dragged the chair to a corner of the table. Elrond had managed to hide a smile, but just barely.

No doubt he was remembering another young Took, one whose son now stood before him.

Thorin pointed to a place within the Misty Mountains. “There,” he said. “That is where we were ambushed.”

Aragorn tilted his head from his side of the circular table. The dwarf king’s accuracy was impressive. “How do you still get lost, then?” Bilbo mumbled under his breath. Thorin cast a half-hearted glare at his husband while Elrond managed to contain his amusement. No doubt there was a long story to follow that statement, one that Bilbo would undoubtedly enjoy telling. He only wished there was time for him to hear it.

Once the Shire was saved and the thieves dealt with. Then he would hear stories and tell some in return.

“There were no orcs to be found near our borders,” Elrond said. “If you found them so far into the Misty Mountains, they have not come any further.”

Aragorn frowned. “Then how did you know to look for us?” he asked. “You were here, waiting, and your guards anxiously searching for us.”

From his robes Elrond pulled forth a rolled parchment. “Your kinsmen sent it ahead of you,” he said, handing it to Thorin. Thorin had only to look once at the lettering before his eyes widened.

“Fili,” Bilbo murmured. All eyes fell to Thorin who carefully unrolled the message. After a moment the dwarf began to read out loud.

“Those from the far east go west. The king chases the opponent’s pieces. Wandering feet do not fear or stop for forest or mountain. Your eyes must remain open even while you would sleep.”

A long silence followed. “From the east to the west,” Elrond said after a moment. “Those who resided in the east were the orcs; it was my first clue that perhaps the rumors of orcs sighted going westward was not just a rumor. The king, I had assumed, was you, though I did not understand what he meant by ‘opponent’s pieces’. I could only assume he meant you were following the orcs. I have taken heed of his warning regarding being watchful with everyone I can spare.”

“Draughts,” Bilbo said. When everyone save for Esmeralda frowned at him in confusion, he hastened to explain. “’The king chases the opponent’s pieces.’ It’s a game called draughts. It’s very popular in the Shire. I taught Fili and Kili both how to play. Once a piece moves across the board successfully, it’s called a ‘king’, and you use it to chase your opponent’s pieces down to remove them from the board.”

“You don’t watch out, Fili’ll have run of Erebor, being as quick as he is,” Balin said. Thorin snorted.

“There are days I would gladly give it to him, were he to ask for the crown. It is not something I would force him to take now; I would have him live many more years of peace before he must rise to the throne.”

Aragorn could understand that. Arwen had spoken to him of children, and even as he had felt joy at the possibility, he had also felt a curdling of fear for what he would leave to his child. Even now that Sauron was gone, his child would be left to rule a world where darkness yet remained. His child would be forced to take the throne, to lead Gondor, all because of being born to Aragorn. It was more than he would ask of any of his guards. He could not bear the thought of doing that to a child, _his_ child.

“What does he mean by ‘wandering feet’?” Elrond asked. “Where are your heirs?”

“Fili, Kili, Legolas, and Ori’s kin, Nori, have gone south in pursuit of the thieves,” Gandalf said. “I can only assume they have found nothing yet, and they continue to march after them. The thieves were told to carry on and retrieve gold and a prize, of which we do not know yet what it is.”

“I can take a good guess,” Dwalin growled. Thorin pursed his lips but said nothing.

“You believe it is the gold in Erebor,” Elrond said. Thorin gave a curt nod. “They have not said what the prize is?”

“No,” Bilbo said. “They didn’t say anything about it, or where either the gold or the prize were coming from. We’re making assumptions, given that it was my traveling kin they took. If they were looking for a bartering chip, well. They couldn’t have picked a better one.”

The bitterness on his face was more than Aragorn could bear. He leaned across the table towards his friend. “Had they picked strangers, Bilbo, it would have been a barter enough for you. I know you would have gone to the aid of anyone if they had brought a ransom demand for gold in exchange for life. They simply chose your kin because it was easier.”

Bilbo’s ears turned pink at the tips, but he managed a small smile. Thorin gave Aragorn a look of gratitude for his words. There was no doubt that Bilbo felt guilt for asking a small band of his kin to travel to Erebor in the first place, but to imagine that the whole of the Shire would suffer… Aragorn could only imagine how angry with himself Bilbo had to be, and for no reason at all. It was not his fault that the thieves had chosen to strike out at him or at Erebor.

“There’s a chance that the Shire’s the prize they seek,” Balin said after a moment. “Why else wander all the way to the west and out of your way unless it’s your destination?”

“Good thoughts all, Balin, son of Fundin,” Elrond said with a nod. “My heart fears for the people of the Shire. Whatever their deed there, it is a most foul one.”

Bilbo swallowed hard. “But…why would they want the Shire? We would’ve traded with the men, with the dwarves. What could they possibly _want_ with the Shire?” His voice was pained, and Aragorn remembered the last time he’d heard Bilbo sound so lost: before the quest to destroy the Ring.

He could only hope this journey would not bring about as much pain as the last.

“A great many things,” Elrond said, as kindly as he could. “The land could be dug into; have you any idea of what lies beneath the ground? Far below the surface dirt?”

Bilbo blinked. “I…no. The only time someone’s dug that far was in order to build an ice box, or to carve out a cellar. We’ve…no one’s mined in the Shire. I don’t know what’s there.”

“Nor do I. But if they have a reason to believe there is wealth to be had beneath the ground, they will not hesitate to tear the Shire apart to get to it.”

“What about Primula and Drogo?” Esmeralda asked. “They’ve taken them as prisoners. Why not just…” She stopped, unable to finish.

Elrond, kindly, did not make her. “Perhaps they hope for a ransom, as they are obviously Bilbo’s kin, and Bilbo belongs to one of the largest and most profitable kingdoms in Middle-Earth. They may have two goals here. But orcs are inherently lazy, and would prefer to hand the work over to someone else. I hold good hopes in that your people would be made slaves before they were made corpses.”

Aragorn wished the words could have been spoken any kinder. Esmeralda went a bit white in the face and leaned back into Tauriel, who stood faithfully by her side. What friendship the two had found, Aragorn did not know, but never before had he seen Tauriel so loyal with someone else who was not Legolas. There was an obvious love and respect there, a devotion, as if Esmeralda was her kin. He only knew that Esmeralda clung to her as one would cling to the last of their family, and he was grateful that the elf was there, suddenly, so grateful, if just to bring her a small amount of peace.

The other hobbit in the room looked to be just as sickened and distraught as Esmeralda. He managed a nod in Elrond’s direction, but he appeared so lost that Aragorn wished he could round the table and settle him. As it was, Thorin stayed directly behind him, keeping him upright, watching him with worry in his gaze. Bilbo began to speak, then stopped, and he reached back with a stumbling hand for Thorin to steady him.

Gandalf caught Aragorn’s eye, and Aragorn gave a curt nod. The meeting was over. Bilbo and Esmeralda had suffered enough. “We make for the Shire in the morning, then,” he said. “Elrond-“

“I cannot spare you any elves, for I have very few here,” Elrond said. “Many have chosen to go West, to the Undying Lands. Others are in Lorien with the Lady Galadriel. But those I have here I will keep on the borders; I may not be able to aid you in the Shire itself, but I can, and will, keep any other foul enemies from following behind you.”

It would have to be enough. “Any aid is a kindness,” Gandalf said. “You have our thanks.”

“I believe I owe _you_ all my thanks,” Elrond said. He moved his gaze around the table to every being who stood there. He smiled, and it was one that, while warm, showed his age. “You did what I could not: you brought Sauron, and Mordor, to their knees. I am glad to call you my allies and friends.”

“Had you not come to join with us in Gondor, I fear the outcome of the battle may not have been as favorable,” Thorin said, and Elrond’s smile turned up into a quick grin. Much had changed in ten years, including Thorin’s diplomacy. To beings of a shorter lifespan, it had taken quite some time to come about, but to an elf whose years were unnumbered, it had to appear quick indeed.

“I was glad to do it, my friend.” He stepped away from the table and towards the door. “It has been a swift but harsh journey: take a breath here for the night. There is a feast being prepared for you, and soft beds to take your rest upon. Anything you have need of, only ask me, and it shall be done.”

They left then, and Aragorn was not surprised to see Bilbo and Thorin going off in a different direction than the rest. Perhaps the gardens, where a hobbit might find peace. Esmeralda looked shaken, but her innocence still wrapped her in a sense of hope and safety, much like a cloak. Bilbo had lost his many years ago, and it made Aragorn ache for his friend. Bilbo knew very well what even a handful of orcs could do. He could only hope that his words had helped his friend in some manner.

“Had I known you were coming, I would have ordered you bring me a letter from my daughter.”

Aragorn smiled. “Had I known I was coming, I would have brought one. She is well, and even now leads Gondor with what I know to be a sure mind and a kind heart. She is adored and loved by all.” Especially him. There was not a day that went by when he did not look upon her and feel the strength of his love.

He paused. “You did not know of our arrival?”

“Past the letter that young Fili sent? No, I did not.” Elrond’s face was troubled. “Something dark stirs too near to me, and it has clouded many a vision lately. Many of the elves here have grown restless with it, and have left in recent years.” He bent his head, eyes upon the ground. “Long have we known that our time here would come to an end. Yet I did not think it would be so swiftly.”

“You will still have many years left upon Arda,” Aragorn promised. “And if they have all left Rivendell but you, for I know you would stay until the end, I would offer you any place within Gondor as your own. You are, and always have been, most welcome within the White City, for it would not stand if not for you.”

Elrond gazed at him for a long moment, then finally gave a smile. “She chose well,” he murmured. He rested a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “You did not believe me at the time, but you have truly become the king you were meant to be. I only wish that the many years before you would be blessed with peace.”

It left Aragorn’s gut twisting, to think of it. But constant peace was not without price. “I will keep her safe,” he swore. “I will.”

“Her and your children,” Elrond said. Aragorn stopped. Slowly the elf smiled. “You must know by now, Aragorn; my daughter often gets what she desires. And I know that it is what you also desire. Your worry is the same worry every parent has had for their child. Do not let it stop you from encouraging the future to grow.” He left him there, standing in front of the doors, and for a long time, Aragorn could only stare out at Rivendell. His eyes saw not the beauty before him, but his wife, moving about their chambers, a dark haired child following after her with wide eyes and a bright smile.

  
  


The salad bowl moved a slight bit more to the left. Esmeralda took another bite of her roasted fowl, then began to chew as slowly as she had anything else. When she glanced up at the room around them, Tauriel nudged the salad bowl until it was nearly against Esmeralda’s plate.

So far, she had not noticed. Tauriel took that as a good sign. She carefully took the bread and, after removing a piece, set it back down directly in front of Esmeralda. There was simply no better place to set it, that was all.

Something nudged her elbow. Tauriel glanced over and found Esmeralda watching her with a raised eyebrow. “Is there something you wanted to tell me?” she asked.

For the first time in many years, Tauriel was half afraid she was going to blush. “You have put barely anything on your plate,” she said, “and I know that is not the way of hobbits. The salad is very good.”

“It is,” Esmeralda said, and though her eyes lingered over the leafy greens filled with various nuts, she finally settled back in her chair, fork hanging gently from her fingers. “I just…”

Tauriel knew. It was why she had begun pushing the food in Esmeralda’s direction. “Not eating will not aid them,” she said quietly. Around them, the others were eating in great abundance. Thorin and Bilbo still had not come to join them, and that was another worry all its own. She could only hope that the dwarf king would be able to help settle the heart of his hobbit.

Esmeralda did not look impressed by her words. “If you do not eat, you will have no strength with which to help them. You wish you could give them this food, give them peace, but you cannot. Keeping yourself from nourishment will do them, and you, no good. Eat, sister. You will need your strength to help them.”

A small hand met hers beneath the table. Tauriel squeezed it gently – a promise and assurance – then turned back to her own plate. When Esmeralda slowly began sifting the salad to her plate in small measures, Tauriel could not help but say, “If you need help…”

“I’m going, I am,” Esmeralda grumbled. If Legolas had been there, he would have surely grinned, and Kili and Fili would have been more than amused. For a moment, Tauriel felt their absence swiftly, and it was not a feeling of happiness.

Fortunately, Gimli was still there, and he made his presence very well known by shoving a bowl of vegetables in Esmeralda’s direction. “Good! You can eat those for me; I’ve no taste for ‘em.”

“Have you a taste for anything that’s not meat?” Tauriel asked dryly. From beside Gimli, Dwalin snorted.

“He’s a good taste for Bilbo’s biscuits. And Dernwyn’s bread. And-“

“Sure enough, sure enough,” Gimli sputtered, cutting him off, and Tauriel shared a quick grin with Dwalin over his head. “Can’t blame me when there’s good food to be had.”

“I wouldn’t blame you at all,” Esmeralda assured him, but there was a twinkle in her eye, one Tauriel was glad to see. She looked more and more like the young lass she’d met ten years ago with every bite, every word, every moment.

It would not last. Tomorrow, they would face the long trek to the Shire. If they could push the horses, they would make good time, perhaps even catch up to the thieves who had taken Bilbo’s kin. But Tauriel feared they would be left to face them in the Shire all the same. She could only hope that the bright green lands and friendly hobbits would be safe, in the end of it all.

She would lend every arrow she could to defending them. Especially if it meant keeping her sister safe.

When Bilbo and Thorin finally joined the table, it was with calm minds and joined hands. Thorin ensured that Bilbo was seated first before taking his own place at the table, and the talk moved to anything save for what they would leave for in the morning. If the lines around Bilbo’s eyes were more pronounced, if Thorin could not help but glance at his husband every few moments, no one said a thing. Tauriel was simply grateful that they were at a sort of peace, much as Esmeralda was. For when Bilbo ached, she knew that Thorin, too, felt pain.

She would be glad to be rid of the thieves. Too long had they forced Erebor to suffer, had plagued Thorin. Though Bilbo had not known of Thorin’s concerted efforts with the Guard to find the thieves, she had. She had offered herself to patrol during the nights, when others could not see as well as she could. She had never found any indication of their being there. Not until Esmeralda had all but fallen at her feet. Yes, she would happily see them fall.

The meal was almost over when Bofur moved around the table. “It’s all finished now,” he told Esmeralda, and the little hobbit’s eyes lit up in wonder. Bilbo finally smiled, amused at the sheer joy on his cousin’s face. It was good to see her so merry.

“Well, what is it?” she asked, impatience lingering in the shadows if he did not come forward with his efforts. Bofur gave her an almost bashful grin before pulling his work from his pocket. Tauriel could not help herself and leaned over Esmeralda to see.

Had she not known of its origin, she would have thought it a real flower. The petals looked soft, yet she knew if she touched them they would be solid wood. It was a beautiful thing, and though it was only the head of some wild flower, it needed no stem to be lifelike. How he had done it within the few days of their traveling, she did not know.

“Bofur, it’s _beautiful_ ,” Esmeralda breathed amidst the murmurs of appreciation around the table, and his cheeks went a funny color, a rare and strange thing for him. Now that Tauriel thought of it, however, she recalled seeing him in much the same state for some time now. Ever since…

The realization came swiftly, even as Bofur held the flower out. “Thought you might like it,” he said, voice full of cheer, but there was a small hint of hesitation, too. That she would reject it. Reject _him_.

From his seat, Bilbo sat straight up, eyes wide. Esmeralda, too, had frozen, and while Gandalf looked on in surprise, Aragorn and the dwarfs looked confused. They did not know, they could not know, and even Thorin looked bewildered. Though she knew little of hobbit customs, Tauriel knew the significance of the act, and she remained still as she waited for Esmeralda’s answer.

Esmeralda swallowed. “I couldn’t…you worked so hard on it, Bofur. You deserve to keep it.”

Bofur shook his head, and his hat swung sideways. He reached up to readjust it, and Esmeralda’s lips turned up in a quick smile. “Nah, couldn’t do that. ‘Sides, I, um, carved it for you. Seein’ as how you seemed so interested in what I was doin’. I thought you might like it.”

No wonder he’d had it so quickly finished: he had started carving in Erebor and had taken it with him. Tauriel could not help but glance at Bilbo to gauge his reaction, but his eyes were all on Esmeralda. The whole table seemed to be waiting for her response.

Her smile turned shy. “I would be honored,” she said softly. “Thank you.” And she took the flower from him.

Bofur gave a quick nod, looking pleased, then went back to his seat. Bilbo seemed to be blinking in quick accord, unable to process what had just transpired. Tauriel could not blame him. It was obvious now that while Bofur had been thinking of Esmeralda when he had carved the flower, he had meant it as a gift. He had no idea of what he had offered to her, of what he had potentially promised. And Esmeralda had obviously known that, having taken the gift as she had.

Dwarves offered their intentions with jewels and shimmering gifts. Elves offered their intentions with something made with a bit of their grace, to bind themselves to the other. Men brought gifts to woo their intended.

Hobbits made things for the one they adored, and typically, it was done with baked goods or flowers they had grown.

Esmeralda seemed enamored with the flower. Her fingers slid over the petals, her cheeks pink. The table was still quiet, and eventually, Bofur or Esmeralda would notice.

Fortunately, Dwalin spoke before Tauriel could. “Hand me some of that salad, Tauriel; think Gimli wants some.”

“I do _not_ ,” her young friend protested, and voices again began to rise. Esmeralda still did not seem to notice, and Bofur seemed content to eat while glancing at her every other bite.

Perhaps he had some idea of what he had offered. Perhaps Esmeralda had been willing to accept his affections.

Bilbo ate swiftly and left silently. Bofur, thankfully, did not notice. Though reluctant to leave Esmeralda, Tauriel murmured to her sister that she would return, and merely wanted to know if Bilbo was well. Esmeralda smiled and waved her on, and Tauriel followed Thorin and Dwalin out.

They found Bilbo in the corridor, far from any ears still at the table. “I missed somethin’,” Dwalin said. “We all missed somethin’.”

“A big something,” Bilbo confirmed. “I…” And then he began to pace, words completely lost to him.

Thorin took a seat on one of the nearby benches, apparently waiting for Bilbo to settle enough to sit beside him. “It was a small token,” he began, as if attempting to puzzle it out. “A gift for one who has been through much.”

“No, it’s not,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “That’s not…that’s not what it means. Not to hobbits.” He finally stopped and pinned Thorin with a gaze. “Do you know why I asked Dwalin to show me how to forge my own ring and bead for you? Because let me tell you, it wasn’t because I was eager to burn my fingers or toast the ends of my curls. It was because it was made by my hand. Hobbits honor that above all else. And flowers are the typical way to offer intentions, especially to a young maiden.”

Thorin’s eyes widened with dawning realization. “He offered her his intentions,” he said. Dwalin groaned.

“And he doesn’t even realize-“

“Whether he understands the significance or not, it was not done as a mere ‘token’,” Tauriel said. “He has been very unlike himself for some time now, ever since he first met Esmeralda. He feels the stirrings of his heart. He may not have realized just how important it was, but he offered his gift with the affections behind it.”

“And _she_ certainly knows,” Bilbo said. “Her accepting it means she’s open to his affections. It doesn’t really mean they’ll be married, but it’s the first step in that direction.” He shook his head and finally stumbled over to sit beside his husband, a dazed look upon his face. “It doesn’t surprise me,” he said after a moment. “Bofur’s kind and adventurous and everything a Took could look for and want in someone. Even as decidedly un-Bofur like as he’s been lately, it’s still obvious.”

“You married a dwarf and did well,” Thorin said, and Bilbo finally snorted a laugh.

“And I was a Baggins at that. Though my Took side was blamed, I’m certain of it.” He sighed. “She was just married not even a few weeks ago. I just…I couldn’t bear it if they were hurt. Either of them.”

“Let ‘em decide for themselves,” Dwalin said, and his voice was more gentle than Tauriel had ever heard it before. “We’ll watch, play chaperone, offer advice if they need it. But Esmeralda didn’t find her heart in Saradoc, from what I heard. She’d found a friend and she’d been content with that.”

“Bofur gave up looking for his heart’s mate a long time ago,” Thorin said. “If he has found it in Esmeralda, I would only hope for their happiness.”

Bilbo nodded. “Me too.” He sighed again and buried his face in his hands with a groan. “I didn’t think _this_ would happen.”

“I will speak with Esmeralda, ask her about her feelings,” Tauriel offered. Thorin gave her a nod. “I will tell you what she has to say.”

“Not that it’ll make too much of a difference for us,” Bilbo muttered. “If she’s made up her mind, wild boars couldn’t stand against her. She’s as stubborn as they come.”

“One of Took blood who’s stubborn,” Thorin mused. “I have never heard of such a thing.” Bilbo scowled up at his husband before elbowing him in the side. Thorin smiled unrepentantly.

“Insufferable dwarf.”

“ _Stubborn_ hobbit.”

“And I’ll take my leave before they get anywhere close to kissin’,” Dwalin said, turning and heading back to the table. Tauriel smirked and left with him. Perhaps Bofur and Esmeralda would help take Bilbo’s mind off of the Shire, if just for a time.

Their reprieve would not be long. And tomorrow would see them on their way to the Shire and the dangers it would hold within.


	10. The ransom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erebor receives another letter, but this time, it's not from Fili.
> 
> From the edge of the Shire, the company can see the flames, but find surprising help - but with an ominous message.

Dori came in just as Dernwyn was setting the last of things to right in the guest chambers. He knocked twice on the door, gentle as could be. “Has one of my children decided to do something they shouldn’t?” Dernwyn asked, throwing a grin over her shoulder.

“Do you mean to ask if they’re acting more like Fili than you?” Dori asked dryly, and Dernwyn chuckled. “No, they’re actually behaving themselves, at the moment. They’ve settled down for lunch splendidly. But I did come to tell you that Morwen and the Rohirrim are gathering to depart.”

Dernwyn knew. She’d been cleaning their rooms up after them, something she didn’t have to do, but something she _could_ do in the wake of their departure. No further news from Fili had come, and now her kin were leaving the mountain. It needed to be done: there was far too much danger going on for them to be so far from home, but it still left her feeling bereft. She was grateful for Dis and Dori being there. Without them, she would’ve been even more lost.

“I believe they’ll be waiting at the gates to say goodbye,” Dori added, and Dernwyn finally set down her dust rag. There was no more hiding it; she had farewells to make.

Dril suddenly appeared behind Dori, catching both of their attentions. “There’s another scroll arrived just a few moments ago,” he said, and Dernwyn’s heart leapt in her chest. _Finally_. “Princess Dis has it.”

Dernwyn could only give him a quick thanks before hurrying out of the room and into the main room they all shared. Hildili and Holdred were there, eating their meals at the table, and Dis was already unwrapping the scroll. “You couldn’t wait for me?” Dernwyn complained.

All she got were rolled eyes. “I would have waited to read it,” Dis insisted. Dernwyn couldn’t blame her: they’d all been waiting tensely for any further messaging. Days and days had passed, and only now had they heard again from Fili. It was enough to make Dernwyn’s skin itch.

When she saw him again, there were going to be words about scaring wives and children and mothers-

Except Dis was staring at the scroll in her hands, and her cheeks had gone pale. “What’s wrong?” Dernwyn asked, frowning. “Dis?”

Dis merely handed the scroll over. Puzzled, Dernwyn quickly began to read.

Then she stopped breathing.

_Erebor is to release Bilbo Baggins henceforth immediately to us, or his innocent kin will be slaughtered and their blood on your hands. He is to bring five carts filled with gold with him. Send both to south of Mirkwood at the Isen River and deliver into the hands of the awaiting Corsairs. Only then will we release his kin. We have already slaughtered one; we will kill again._

There was a blood smear on the bottom of the page, of which Dernwyn had no doubt belonged to Saradoc. It was in complete and horrible odds in how beautifully it was written, the language perfect, not a character out of place.

Her eyes kept drifting to the top of the scroll. _Erebor is to release Bilbo Baggins henceforth_.

Slowly she met Dis’s eyes over the top of the parchment. Dis looked ready to kill. “How much gold did they ask for?” her dwarf mother asked.

“Five carts worth.”

“That’s a pittance. That’s nowhere near what they could be asking for.”

No, because they didn’t care about the gold. Not as much as they cared about something else. Or rather, some _one_ else.

Bilbo.

“When the thief took an interest in Bilbo, two years ago, he mentioned that if he took Bilbo, people would be angry.” Dernwyn swallowed. “What if…what if he didn’t mean Thorin or any of us? What if he meant the person leading the thieves?”

It was a terrible thought, and one that she couldn’t get out of her head now. It was Bilbo they were after, not the gold, not anything else, just Bilbo. It had been Bilbo’s kin who’d been attacked, Bilbo they wanted.

And Bilbo didn’t have a clue. None of them would know.

“We have to send a raven-“

“You can’t,” Dori said, and he looked so regretful that Dernwyn swallowed her sharp retort back. “If you do that, you’ll make things all the more difficult for them, and you’ll give it away. They have to be watching Erebor like a hawk.”

Dis frowned and held out her hand for the ransom note. Dernwyn gave it to her, trying to put it all together. Why would they want Bilbo? What could they possibly want with him? Nothing good, she knew that much, but why a small hobbit would mean so much to thieves, she didn’t know.

Her dwarf mother finally rolled the parchment up, face grim. “There’s only one good thing to be had here,” she said, “and that’s the fact that they believe Bilbo is still here. They believe Bilbo’s _here_. They don’t appear to know that the others have left.”

They could still have an upper hand. “But that means we still have no way of telling them, of warning them that it’s Bilbo’s head they want,” Dernwyn said. “We need to send a raven-“

“And you _can’t_ ,” Dori interjected, and Dernwyn was nearly ready to pull her hair out. “Erebor gets ravens all the time, but it's a rare day that we send one out immediately after. Thorin deliberates for a few days before sending a reply; if you send one out now, they'll hunt it down, and they'll find our message inside. It's why Fili's been so cryptic.”

“We don't have days,” Dernwyn said anxiously. The others had to be warned, _Fili_ had to be warned. Bilbo and Thorin needed to know. Except they didn’t even know where Bilbo and Thorin were, if they were in the Shire or if something had happened. And there was no way to send a raven to Fili.

When the answer came, it must have showed on her face, for Dis immediately began shaking her head. “No, absolutely _not_.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Dernwyn said. “You know we don’t. If there’s any chance of saving Bilbo and the others, someone needs to go.” She glanced at Hildili and Holdred, her heart torn in two. If she left, she could fall, and they would have no mother and possibly no father to raise them.

If she didn’t go, Bilbo would be taken, and Fili would die. She could feel the terrible twisting in her heart, that stirring of _something_ that refused to let go. That horrible knowledge that something would happen to Fili if she didn’t leave right then. She glanced up at Dis, pleading on her face.

Dis finally looked away. “I will keep them safe,” was all she promised, and Dernwyn hurried to her children who were no longer eating but watching her.

“What’s the matter?” Holdred asked immediately. “Mama?”

“Your Papa needs me,” she said. “I have to go find him. Will you two stand up for me, here, while I’m gone? Will you promise to be good to your Grandmother?”

Neither child looked happy, but Holdred finally nodded. “And I’ll take care of Lili,” he swore, and Dernwyn kissed him on the forehead.

“I know you will,” she said. And he would: no one would protect Hildili better than Holdred.

Hildili sniffled. “Don’t go,” she said, and Dernwyn pulled them both to her.

“I have to, dear heart. I’ll be back,” she added when she couldn’t find anything else to say, and she realized then that she was speaking the last words her father had spoken to her. She had wondered why, years later, why he’d given her a lie, but now she knew. It was the only answer he had had to give her.

But she could do more than her father had. She cradled them to her and kissed them both soundly. “I love you both more than you will ever know,” she whispered. “You are my pride and my joy, my sun and moon and stars. The only other person who could love you as much is your Papa.”

“Are you going to go bring him home?” Holdred asked. Dernwyn looked him straight in the eyes and found herself glimpsing the man he would one day be: solemn and strong, loyal and true.

She nodded. “Yes, yes I am.”

“You can’t go alone,” Dori insisted. “It’s dangerous enough for the company, and they’re a company!”

“I don’t intend to,” she said. She hurried down the hall then, racing into her room and catching her pack from the wardrobe. She changed like a madwoman, throwing on her leggings and tunic with the mithril armor Fili had had fashioned for her after the assassination attempt. Her riding gloves were next, and she pulled on her boots before moving to catch her sword by the door.

Dis was there, Dernwyn’s sword in her hands. Dernwyn paused. “Promise me you’ll be safe,” Dis said, her eyes shining in a way Dernwyn had never seen before. “Promise me, daughter mine.”

“I swear,” she said. “And I’ll return-“

“Don’t make me promises as you made your children,” Dis said, her voice low. “I’m full grown, and I know the dangers of the world. Just promise me, to the best of your abilities, you’ll be safe.”

Dernwyn slowly took the sword from her and tied the belt about her. “I promise,” Dernwyn said. “Myself and the others.”

Dis nodded and offered her a thick cloak. Puzzled, Dernwyn took it and found it filled with warm furs and lined with mithril. “It’s my traveling cloak,” Dis told her. “Thick and warm and safe. You’ll need it more than I will in the days ahead.”

The cloak was barely in her arms before Dernwyn couldn’t help herself: she flung herself forward and wrapped herself around Dis. Dis clung back, fingers tight in her back. “Be safe,” Dis whispered.

“I will,” Dernwyn swore once more, and then Dis was shoving her down the hall and towards the stables. Dril followed her, keeping up with her swift strides, and then they were hurrying down the stairs to the scent she had grown up with: horses and hay and leather. Her horse was soon ready, and she donned the cloak while she waited for the last checks on the saddle. Bombur, who quickly came out with several sacks of food for her to take, would only go after she’d promised him she'd be safe. There was nothing left to do after that except to mount.

Dril patted the horse’s head gently, but his eyes were full of worry. “You give me but fifteen minutes, and I’d be ready to go with you,” he said. Dernwyn smiled at him and reached down to take his hand. The ever faithful Dril.

“I need you here, watching Dis and Dori and the children. I can hardly stand to leave except that I need to; it’s only by your being here that I’m able to go.”

He gave a sharp nod, a guard on duty, and he winked. “Then I’ll be on watch, m’lady. Never fear.”

“I never do,” Dernwyn told him, and she raced out of the stables. She rounded the corner of the mountain to the front gates, where the Rohirrim were waiting. At her arrival, they startled, murmuring amongst themselves. Morwen quickly pushed herself to the front, and her surprise was evident.

Before she could speak, however, Dernwyn said, “We received a ransom. I need to travel to the Isen River. I was hoping you would bear me hence with you.”

“You are always welcome to travel with us,” Morwen said. “But I fear we’ll be too slow for a ransom demand.”

“What was the ransom?” Théoden asked.

Dernwyn narrowed her gaze. “Gold. And Bilbo.”

She watched as Morwen took in a steady breath, and when she had gathered herself, her eyes were like fire, burning hot and angry. Bilbo was a friend of Rohan’s, but especially a friend of Morwen’s. “I’ll send Rohirrim back to help Erebor,” she said. “We will move as swiftly as we can with you.”

“There’s no need,” Éomund said, riding forward. He gave Dernwyn a quick nod. “I’m going with you.”

Dernwyn blinked. “Éomund, I can’t ask you-“

“You’re not, I’m volunteering,” he said. “I’ll ride hard.”

“I have no doubt about that, but-“

“I owe your dwarf kin a debt,” Éomund said, and that, Dernwyn hadn’t been expecting. “They fought to save my father’s life, and they certainly avenged him. They were kind with the words they brought back about his strength and how he lived, not the manner in which he died.” Éomund swallowed hard, and Dernwyn could see the young boy he’d been in Rohan all those years ago, having just lost his father. When he looked back up, however, he was a full grown man with a promise written across his face for all to see. “I owe them. And I will stand by you as your brother.”

“We will too-“

“No,” Dernwyn said fiercely when Théodwyn and Théoden rode forward. “Get back to Rohan, assemble the Rohirrim. Éomund coming along is bad enough. I couldn’t bear if all my siblings came with me.”

Théodwyn pursed her lips but nodded. Théoden looked less pleased but finally acquiesced. “Then we will send help immediately,” he said, and she could see now the king he would be, one day. He’d be a good one.

“I suppose this won’t be a long farewell, then,” Dernwyn said to Morwen, and the queen smiled grimly.

“Perhaps not. Be safe.”

“I will.” She backed away to let Éomund join her. Before he did so, however, he turned back to Théodwyn, catching her hand with his. After a long moment of gazing at her, puzzling everyone who watched, he finally spoke.

“I meant to do this somewhere else, somewhere much more romantic, but I…I would ask for your hand, in mine, forever.”

Everyone stared in surprise except for Théodwyn, who gave a watery laugh and clasped his hand in hers. “You could have asked me in a pig pit and I would have said yes,” she told him. She pulled a pin from her hair and handed it to him. “I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”

Éomund smiled, bright and clear, and Dernwyn wished she had Fili beside her so badly she ached. It had been so long since she’d seen his face, felt his arms around her, heard his laugh as Hildili and Holdred clung to his legs.

She had to find her husband. She had to.

The stepping of horses jolted her from her thoughts, and as one the group began to ride swiftly away from Erebor. Then, as soon as they were past Dale and Esgaroth, Dernwyn and Éomund tore away and headed southwest towards Isengard.

Dernwyn could only hope they wouldn’t be too late.

  
  


It was late evening when they finally arrived in Hobbiton. There’d been no sight of the orcs, not one, and while they’d passed farms and small groups of houses untouched, they’d seen no one outside. It was clear that orcs had been through here already.

Thorin did not even want to imagine what waited for them beyond the rolling hills.

For what little it was worth, nothing was on fire, and there were no screams being torn through the night. Nothing appeared to have been burned, and there were no bodies littering the paths. It only made him all the more uneasy.

“Stay close, and stay quiet,” Gandalf warned. “We will need to dismount soon.”

Better to tread in silently than on horseback. If it had just been orcs, Thorin would have done so and without hesitating. But there were hostages here, a Shire full of hobbits taken captive, and Thorin refused to see them harmed. Silence and stealth, here, would be key.

In front of him, Bilbo was the perfect image of the word silence. He had been, ever since they had woken this morning. He had tossed out a few words here and there, but otherwise had been quiet. He’d slept poorly, Thorin knew that, and he’d mumbled something about a nightmare before they had begun moving on again. And though silent, he’d refused to move from Thorin’s side, and Thorin had a suspicion that he, once again, had a major part to play in the nightmare.

Wandering into a burnt and bloody Shire had probably also featured prominently in his dreams, but considering that had been a far too realistic possibility, Thorin couldn’t fault him there.

Gandalf drew them to a halt, and Thorin nearly asked why until he could see the faint glow in the dark sky ahead. The glow of dancing flames. “Oh sweet Eru,” Bilbo whispered faintly, and Thorin clung to him tightly. It seemed the Shire was burning, after all.

Aragorn slid from his horse. “We are close enough to wander in under the veil of night. If we keep to the high fields, we should remain hidden.”

The others dismounted, and Thorin carefully set Bilbo on the ground. “It is a contained fire,” Thorin told his husband. “Just from the size alone, it must be.”

Bilbo nodded stiffly. Thorin let him be and followed Aragorn through the cover of darkness. It seemed almost yesterday that they had been here for the wedding. The Shire had not changed much, in ten years, save for the fire that bloomed brighter with every step they took towards it.

Rustling in the weeds ahead made them stop. Thorin glanced to Aragorn, and then in turn to Gandalf. Gandalf pulled his staff forward and slowly moved to the brush. With a quick swing of his staff he brought it down on the enemy in the weeds, felling it.

The pained, “Ow!” was decidedly not the cry of an orc, however. Gandalf quickly pulled out their ‘enemy’, a small hobbit. “Hamfast!” Bilbo cried, hurrying forward with Esmeralda. “Are you all right?”

“’Cept for my head, but I’ll be all right,” Hamfast assured him, rubbing at his scalp. “I’m _so_ happy to see you, you’ve no idea, Mister Bilbo. There’s orcs and they’ve got a burn pile going in the middle of town-“

So it wasn’t the whole of the Shire burning. Thorin let out a sigh of relief, but Hamfast kept going. “-and they’ve got everyone rounded up and watched over. Men, women, children, everyone! A few of us managed to hide and we’ve been up here in the old granary.”

“Have they hurt anyone?” Aragorn asked.

Hamfast shook his head. “Well, not seriously, at least. A few cuts and bruises, but mostly they’ve just kept everyone penned up. They’re waiting.”

“Waiting? For what?” Bilbo asked.

Hamfast glanced at him, and the next words out of his mouth left Thorin’s gut churning. “For you, Mister Bilbo. They’re waiting for you.”


	11. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue of the Shire has begun. The element of surprise lands in their favor.
> 
> But to save the hobbits, a sacrifice may be necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have comments to reply to, but I wanted to say thank you so much for all the comments, all the emails, all the support and good wishes and prayers. It means a lot to me so very much. I'll keep you posted as to what we learn and what happens.
> 
> But I owe you all so much love and thanks. Seriously, y'all rock my socks.
> 
> For the record: Hamfast Gamgee is, as most of you know, Samwise Gamgee's father. Boltim Cotton is a character of my own creation who's the father of Tolman "Tom" Cotton, who in turn is Rosie Cotton's father. Adelard Took is a fun character who, apparently, was well known for his umbrella-thievery. I have a point to this character, but it may not come for a few stories after this one. And, of course, you know Lobelia.

Bilbo blinked. “They’re waiting for _me_?”

Hamfast nodded swiftly, so much so that Thorin feared for his head, that it might come off at the shoulders. “They’ve been talking about you and gold and a ransom of some kind. Saying how it’d be nice if they were the ones that hauled you in, to gain favor for themselves, and it’s been horrible, Mister Bilbo, just _awful_ listening to them talk that way about you-“

Thorin was going to be ill. Pieces started sliding into place: the thieves breaking into Erebor two years ago, their interest in Bilbo, taking Bilbo’s kin, the prize they’d sought after. It wasn’t just gold; gold was simply a loose commodity to be traded and used. No, it was Bilbo they were after, Bilbo they truly wanted.

The ‘why’ would have to come later. Thorin’s first concern was his husband, who looked far too shaken for Thorin’s liking. “How many of you got away, Master Hamfast?” Thorin asked the excitable hobbit.

“Four of us,” Hamfast said. “Myself, Adelard Took, Tim Cotton, and Lobelia.”

“Wait,” Dwalin said, cutting in. “Lobelia? As in Sackville-Baggins?”

“The same,” Hamfast said. “It was actually her who managed to lead us out to safety. We’ve been hiding for a few days now: the fire’s been constant since yesterday. It’s made up of carts and other things, anything they can find.”

Eventually, they’d run out of wood and turn to the hobbits. Thorin could all but see the same thoughts running through the minds of everyone there. Though unharmed for now, the hobbits were still in danger.

“Esmeralda, you’re a sight to see, and a good one too,” Hamfast said with a relieved smile. “When the others came back without you and Saradoc, we thought the worst.”

“Prim’s here, then? Drogo and Elodie too?” Esmeralda asked him.

Hamfast nodded. “They are. Safe as houses…well, for the time being. They’ve been locked up in Bag-End.” He glanced around the company, his brow furrowing. “You didn’t bring Saradoc with you?” he asked.

Esmeralda swallowed and looked away. Bilbo laid a hand on Hamfast’s shoulder when his eyes widened in horror and grief. “She did,” Bilbo said quietly. “He’ll be scattered, here, at home.”

Hamfast murmured something that Thorin couldn’t decipher, but Bilbo and Esmeralda both gave a sharp nod. “Well,” Hamfast began in a louder voice, then stopped, rubbing at his eyes. “Well.”

Bilbo was beginning to hold that expression of self-loathing again, the one Thorin had barely been able to chase away in Rivendell. Thankfully, Esmeralda spoke. “He died defending me and the others. I want it known.”

“And it’ll be known,” Hamfast assured her. “No other way he would’ve wanted to go, being a Brandybuck. Stout heart and loyal to the core.” He glanced at Bilbo and patted him on the shoulder. “Could barely keep them all in the Shire, once the invitation came. Kept the dwarven guards running to catch up!”

He chuckled a little and shook his head. “Adventurers, the lot of you.”

“It’s done the Shire little good,” Bilbo said bitterly, but a few of the lines from his brow had evened out at Hamfast’s words. His kin had left of their own accord, had willingly made the trek to Erebor. What had befallen them was not his fault, but the fault of the thieves and orcs.

Which, speaking of…

“How many orcs, my good Hamfast?” Gandalf asked. One of these days, the wizard was going to explain how he could so easily read Thorin’s thoughts. “How many orcs must we face?”

“A good few dozen,” Hamfast said. He shuddered. “Fearsome things, they are.”

“Few dozen hundred?” Dwalin said, and Thorin reached for Orcrist. It could be done; it wouldn’t be easy, but it could be done.

Hamfast frowned. “Um, no. A good few dozen. Thirty or so, I’d wager.”

The company paused. Esmeralda looked terrified at that number, but Thorin found himself meeting Dwalin’s bewildered expression with one of his own. Thirty? That was all they numbered? And they had taken the whole of the Shire?

He’d expected a few hundred to meet them at the border, pikes at the ready to slaughter their horses, the Shire all but surrounded by their numbers. But thirty…thirty was barely a raiding party, much less an encampment.

“We could take that, easy enough,” Balin said, looking equally surprised and confused.

“Mahal’s beard, _I_ could take that easy enough, and all on my own,” Gimli said. “If they came at me all at once, I’d have their heads, sure enough.”

Ah. _There_ was the other part that Thorin hadn’t considered immediately. “You cannot leap out to attack them,” Aragorn told Gimli. “They hold a great number of hostages, ones they would slaughter if just to make a point. We cannot lead a charge. We must draw them out.”

“Well, come on back to the granary with me,” Hamfast said, jerking his head in the presumed direction of their hiding place. “We’ll help as best we can. I’ve a frying pan that could be put to use.”

Always hospitable and kind, even in the midst of the darkness. _If only all beings of the earth were like hobbits,_ Thorin thought to himself. “Cookin’s a weapon for hungry stomachs, sure enough,” Dwalin said, to try and leave the little hobbit feeling better about his offer. “And we could eat.”

Hamfast looked at him as if he were mad. “Be happy to feed you, but my frying pan’s cast iron: I’m certain it’ll leave more than one orc head ringing.” Then he was off and down through a nearby field.

Bilbo snorted at their stunned expressions. “Tooks are a dangerous bunch, and Brandybucks can be as much trouble,” he said. “But I wouldn’t cross an angry Gamgee. Not on your life.”

Neither would Thorin, from here on out. He followed after his husband and Hamfast through the falling night, the glow of the fire only burning brighter with the coming darkness. Down through the fields they went, past a small grove of trees that they hid behind when odd noises caught their attention. It was only a few deer, though, moving swiftly away from the Shire, and they hurried on before they could find out what had frightened the deer.

Eventually they came upon the remains of an old farmhouse, down to merely a few wooden slats, and beside it, a tall, wide granary. Wood and metal were exposed on the top, but the bottom was still neatly covered. A perfect hiding place. “Down here,” Hamfast whispered, and he moved to a large part of the wood that was torn away. Aragorn and Gandalf would have a hard time getting in, but the hobbits and dwarves would slide in easily enough.

Hamfast whistled a cheerful, jaunty tune as he moved to the entrance, and when he stepped in, he quickly said, “I’ve found help,” and then Thorin was following Bilbo and Esmeralda in. Gasps of surprise were heard, and both hobbits were quickly wrapped into the arms of other hobbits. Two young men were there, and hurrying forward was Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. Her dress was torn and her hair was a mess, but she clung to Bilbo in a way Thorin would never have guessed. Bilbo looked as stunned as Thorin felt, but he gently patted her on the back. She hung on for a little bit more, then sniffled and pulled away.

Ten years had changed Thorin some; perhaps it had changed her, too.

“They took Lotho and Otho,” she said, and she stamped her feet. “They’ve taken everyone!”

“Easy, Lobelia,” one of the men said, and Bilbo quickly embraced him.

“Boltim Cotton, you’re a sight for sore eyes. And you too, Adelard.”

“He’s politely kept himself from my umbrellas,” Lobelia said, crossing her arms. “Not that I haven’t been watching him.”

“A thief watching a thief,” Esmeralda muttered under her breath, and even Balin had to hide a grin. Louder, she said, “Is it just the four of you, then? No one else has gotten away?”

“It was hard enough getting them out,” Lobelia said, shaking her head. “But I saw my chance to get out, to maybe get away to help, and so I took it. They were closest to the edge of the escape route, so I hauled them with me. Except…” Her face fell and she rubbed at her arms, as if cold. “There’s no one to help. Tried to get to Buckland, but they’ve got a few orcs patrolling the way to the East Farthing. Who knows how many more there are outside the Shire.”

There were none that Thorin had seen, but they had entered swiftly and as silently as they could through the main road of the Shire. Perhaps they had missed the patrol. “How many orcs?” Gandalf asked her from where he crouched outside the entrance. Thorin could make out Aragorn in the darkness still, and he knew Tauriel would be on watch, scanning the horizon for any approaching orcs. “How many orcs were there?”

“Too many to take on,” the hobbit named Adelard said. He scratched at his head, only moving dirty hair about. “Perhaps more than thirty.”

It was still such a small number, and Thorin’s heart ached for the innocence of the hobbits. Thirty orcs were seen as such a terrible danger, and here Thorin thought the number trivial. He could see Aragorn shutting his eyes tightly, obviously thinking along the same lines. Dwalin clenched his fists helplessly, and Gimli looked as if he wanted to speak, then settled unhappily.

“I’d have taken ‘em all on, by your button,” Boltim said, putting up his fists. He was large by hobbit standards, nearly as tall as Ori and as wide as Bifur. It was clear that, while still a hobbit, he had muscle behind him, evident even more so by his torn sleeves. “And I would’ve, if they hadn’t taken the women and children. And my wife and son,” he added quietly, and the fight went out of him. “Tolman’s just ten years now.”

“We’ll get them back, Tim,” Bilbo promised. “I swear it.” But his husband looked even less sure of himself than he had earlier, and Thorin hated the way Bilbo’s usual tenacity and determination was faltering in the face of his guilt and worry. Never before had he seen Bilbo so unsure of himself.

If Bilbo did not have the strength to stand on his own, then Thorin would be there to help him. Thorin moved forward and gave them all a low bow. “By my hand, and by my kin, I swear we will take back the Shire,” he told them. “But we will need your aid.” If there was any chance of creeping in unnoticed by the orcs, it would be by the knowledge of the hobbits.

“And you’ll have it,” Lobelia declared swiftly. She glanced uneasily at Dwalin. “I don’t want to be pushed into any puddles,” she told him.

“Didn’t push you the first time,” Dwalin countered. “You landed arse-side down all on your own.”

Lobelia glared at him, but the effect was ruined by her hair hanging about like a mouse’s nest. “Took a bit to get you out,” Adelard added helpfully, and she swung her glare to him. “All that water up your skirts and whatnot-“

“And then you tried to steal my umbrella, I _know_ ,” she snapped. “Can we get back to the saving of the Shire?”

That was two more hobbits who had sticky fingers. And Thorin had been concerned, when told their burglar was a hobbit, that they wouldn’t know what the word even meant. He’d been proven wrong about a lot of his initial assumptions regarding hobbits, and he was glad for it. Lobelia had a point, however: they needed to figure out a way to rescue the hobbits and save the Shire, and it wouldn’t happen by rambling about stolen umbrellas and certain hobbits in puddles.

As much as Thorin enjoyed the imagery Lobelia had supplied at the time of her fall.

“A patrol approaches,” Tauriel said from outside, her voice soft but enough to carry into the granary, and the four hobbits all froze. Esmeralda stepped to the door towards Tauriel, but Bofur and Bilbo both pulled her away.

“Where? And how many?” Balin asked her.

A pause. “Three orcs,” she said at last. “One has a lantern. None of them appear concerned. We could take them swiftly and easily.”

It was a tempting thought. “How often are patrols?” Thorin asked the hobbits.

“Every few hours,” Hamfast said. “They change it up constantly. It’s hard to know when it’s safe to move east. It’s why we haven’t gone. We’ve been gathering supplies.”

“Supplies?” Bofur asked, but even as Hamfast pointed to the wall behind hem, Thorin could make out the various tools and long wooden sticks they’d gathered. A hoe, a shovel, a small garden rake. They were obviously well tended to, for none had rust, but the only one with a truly sharp edge was the shovel. Yet these had been all the hobbits could find to defend themselves with, and they’d been determined enough to try.

“When were you going to make a run for the river?” Bilbo asked, but he sounded as if he already knew.

“Tonight,” Tim said. “We were going to run tonight. Hamfast was acting as a lookout for the very patrol you just saw.”

Bilbo glanced over at Thorin, and it was clear he was looking for help. When they spoke with the Council, it was Thorin who sought the guidance of his husband, wanting Bilbo’s logic and cool-headed approach to the problems of the day. It had been a long time since Bilbo had looked at Thorin so imploringly, begging for a solution.

Here, cool-headedness would do little to help the hobbits. Here, the brunt force and the tactical knowledge of a warrior would reign victorious. And that, that Thorin could offer.

He moved forward, his hand gentle on Bilbo’s back as a support. “A surprise attack would benefit us most here,” Thorin said. “But until we know where the hobbits are being kept, and can keep the orcs from running to use them as a shield, we cannot plan our own attack. We need to get into Hobbiton.”

“Where are they housing themselves?” Aragorn asked. “Are they camped?”

A good question. “I…don’t know,” Hamfast admitted. He rubbed the back of his neck. “There were tents, but I don’t know if that’s where they’re staying or not. They could be holed up in someone’s home, for all I know.”

A possibility, given that they could use the furniture within to light the fire, but Thorin doubted it. Bilbo’s home was one of the largest in the Shire, and it had barely held Gandalf. The orcs wouldn’t have found staying in the hobbit homes worth their time. “Bettin’ they’ve got a camp near town,” Dwalin rumbled, apparently echoing his thoughts, and Thorin nodded.

“The orcs are moving away from us and back towards Hobbiton,” Tauriel said, and her tone was more urgent. “Do we strike them or not?”

“You know the Shire better than I,” Aragorn said, and it was down to Thorin.

Thorin pursed his lips, weighing his options. In the end, he finally said, “Not yet. We need to get into, and possibly out of, town as quietly as we are able. If another patrol is dispatched to discover what happened to the first, we could risk ruining the element of surprise. If I had more time to watch their patterns, and knew they would not be missed for several more hours, then I would. But we do not have that luxury.” Not with hundreds of lives on the line.

“What concerns me most is what has become of Buckland,” Gandalf said. “For if anyone would rise to the defense of the Shire, it would have been them, but we passed it and not a sound was made. They may have also been potentially seized, and the greater foe is there, and not here. Or, perhaps, the orcs are in Bree, which we skirted and shied from in order to be here all the swifter.”

Thorin hated when Gandalf brought legitimate thoughts, and thus, more dangers, to the table. He had a knack for doing that. “We cannot all be in several places at the same time,” Thorin told him. “We must secure Hobbiton first. If we can at least take this much of the Shire back, we will have a foothold. Right now, we have nothing.”

“Except a granary which is fallin’ to pieces,” Dwalin said. “And that’s little to no comfort at all.”

“So how will we get into Hobbiton?” Adelard asked.

“Not all of us,” Thorin said. “There are simply too many. No, some must remain here while others scout it out.” A thought came to him, even as the hobbits looked about to protest. “Is there a home, near an edge of the town, that we could enter undetected?” A base in the town would be beneficial.

“There is,” Bilbo said, startling him. “Bag-End. It’s on the far hill, and the back entrance is hidden enough to find without trouble.”

“Wait, there’s a back entrance?” Bofur asked incredulously. “Where’s _that_?”

“Under the hill,” Esmeralda told him. “Leads down into the cellar. I think it’s perfect for us to get in.”

Mahal help him. Thorin had thought fending Bilbo off when he was determined about something had been difficult. Looking at all six hobbits, each one as earnest and set as the next, was going to be impossible. He took a deep breath and began to speak, but his husband cut him off. “Don’t even think about it,” Bilbo warned. “I’m going with you. How else will you be able to get in? I’ve got the key.”

“You could give me the key,” Thorin said, but it was a lost fight and he knew it. With any luck, he could have Bilbo remain with his cousins in Bag-End and keep him safe from the orcs that way.

His luck never had been worth anything, though.

“Esmeralda-“

Esmeralda was already shaking her head at Tauriel’s soft entreaty. “No, no, and no,” she said. “I’m going. Not just for me, or for Prim and Drogo and Elodie. I’m going for Saradoc.”

“You’ll not leave me behind,” Bofur said immediately. “I’ll stick with Esmeralda.” Esmeralda gave him a friendly grin, and Bofur managed to not hide beneath his hat.

Thorin wondered how he hadn’t seen what was happening between them sooner. It was painfully obvious how Bofur had fallen for the hobbit. He set it aside and consoled himself with the knowledge that Esmeralda would at least be well protected.

“My frying pan’s waiting for a taste of orc,” Hamfast said grimly, and Lobelia ran to where the gardening tools were, only to pull forward a bright red umbrella.

“My umbrella’ll do the trick. The end’s sharper than it looks.”

“Awfully sharp for such a lovely lady to carry,” Adelard began, and all the hobbits in the granary turned to him with a resounding, “ _No_.” Adelard crossed his arms with a ‘hmph’ and looked highly put out.

Silverware and umbrellas. Hobbits fixated on the oddest of things sometimes. Bilbo’s own penchant for handkerchiefs came to mind, but that Thorin at least understood now. Sort of.

“You cannot all come,” Gandalf said gently. His tone and soft smile left the hobbits grumbling but they subsided. Lobelia scowled at him, but she finally dropped her umbrella to the ground. Adelard glanced at it, and she firmly stuck her boot on it. “I will be remaining here, for my size will not lend to this task,” the wizard continued with some air of amusement. “No, I will keep to the outskirts and keep my eye on the orc patrols. Perhaps I can discern a pattern. Ori, if you will help me in keeping the hobbits hidden, I would be most grateful.”

Ori glanced at Dwalin, then finally nodded. Dwalin didn’t look anywhere close to relieved, but he did not appear anxious, either. Thorin could imagine that he was happier with Ori remaining out here and away from the danger. If only Thorin could convince Bilbo to do the same, but one look at his husband showed Bilbo’s face set.

Aragorn nodded. “Balin, if you would come with me, I would look to the river briefly, to see what I could find across the way. If there are other orcs to be found, they would be guarding the waters intently.”

“I’ll go with you, laddie, and gladly,” Balin said, and gave a bow.

Two hobbits, an elf, Dwalin, Bofur, Gimli, and Thorin. Seven made a small enough, yet capable enough, group. “Tauriel, where are the orcs?” Thorin asked.

“Further on and heading into the town,” she said. “I can see no others approaching.”

“No better time,” Dwalin said, and Thorin nodded sharply.

“Then we move now.”

 

The rolling hills had made for a great deal of fun to play in with the other hobbit children, and these were nowhere close to the real hills further to the west. But it was in these small hills that Bilbo held fond memories of playing with Tim and Lobelia and Hamfast, tumbling about with his Took cousins, laughing and running wild. He remembered playing hide and seek, crouching behind tree groves and ducking behind wild shrubs to keep from being seen.

Older now, it wasn’t as much fun. Even if the hiding spots were still the same.

“Trees,” Bilbo whispered, and Thorin gave a sharp nod. When Tauriel gave her own nod, they were off, racing through the night and to the small grove of trees. Only one more hill to go, and they’d be there. Even from here, the heat from the fire could be felt, and Bilbo could only imagine how hot it had to be beside it. It was little more than a tiny wave of heat here, but up close, it would have to feel like an inferno.

He wondered if it would feel like Mordor, if that was why the orcs had built it, and he shut his eyes tight. “Not now,” he murmured to himself. “Not _now_.” He couldn’t risk losing himself to the memory of Mordor now.

“Bilbo?”

“Almost there,” he replied in response to Thorin’s concerned whisper. His husband pursed his lips, but thankfully Tauriel gave the nod to move, and they were flying towards the hill. And then it was just a matter of turning the corner, and they’d be at the back door.

Slowly Dwalin crept forward and around the edge, axes in hand. Bilbo could feel his heart pounding, the pulse almost making him dizzy. If there were orcs around the corner, if they spotted Dwalin, if they knew where the back door was…

But Dwalin only gave a nod. “Clear,” he tossed back over his shoulder, and Bilbo flew out, key in hand. There was the back door, covered in familiar moss, and he quickly turned the key. Even before he could open the door, however, Thorin stepped in front of him, Orcrist raised. Bilbo checked his own blade and found it the same silver it usually was. No orcs inside, then.

Everyone quickly moved inside. The cellar was cool and damp, just perfect for storing wines and ales, and the familiar scent of _home_ swept over him so suddenly that Bilbo nearly stumbled. Even after all these years, there was still a feeling of homesickness for the Shire, for Bag-End, for the green hills and his little garden and a good pipe full of leaf at the end of the day. Even though he loved the mountain and proudly called Erebor his home, there would always be a part of him, he thought, that wanted to be here, too.

Thorin was in Erebor, Thorin had no choice but to be in Erebor. And in the end, that was all Bilbo needed to decide where he would live.

Being tired wasn't helping his mood any; it was only making him maudlin. Tired wasn't quite the word for it: he was exhausted, plain and simple. And there was no relief in sight. 

“What now?” Bofur whispered.

Heavy footsteps from above caught their attention, and Bilbo could see the glow from his blade out of the corner of his eye. Well, that determined that. “Think we’ve orcs to cut down to size,” Dwalin said.

A sudden commotion came from behind, and before they knew it, they were besieged. Except it was more like four hobbits tumbling into Bag-End as eight dwarves had once done, and right behind them was Ori. “What are you doing here?” Dwalin hissed.

“They took off!” Ori complained. “Sped off right after Gandalf turned away. What else was I supposed to do except follow them?”

Tauriel held up her hand to shush them, and as one they held their breaths, listening for noise above. The footsteps had paused. Bilbo swore all of them in the cellar could hear his heartbeat, racing the way it was.

After a moment, the footsteps continued on, and they all let out a sigh of relief. “Get in here,” Thorin growled at the hobbits, and Ori quietly shut the door.

“I told you, my umbrella’s waiting for an orc,” Lobelia insisted.

“That’s not very hobbit-like,” Bilbo pointed out. Lobelia narrowed her gaze.

“Of all the people who ought to be calling me un-hobbit like, Bilbo Baggins, it shouldn’t be _you_. You’ve not a hairy foot to stand on.”

“No, I’ve got two,” he retorted, and somewhere behind him, Thorin’s snort was just barely audible. “Can we not do this right now?”

“You started it,” Lobelia muttered, but she subsided. As much as the last ten years appeared to have subdued her some, she still had a sharp tongue, and Bilbo could just imagine it was hiding in the shadows, waiting to strike. Fortunately, it hadn’t lashed out at Bilbo yet, and her earlier embrace had completely startled him. It had almost been like they were children again, when they’d been friends.

He could only hope her attitude would remain the way it was.

Thorin was already moving up the stairs. Dwalin came behind him, and Bofur had his mattock at the ready. Ori had Dwalin’s warhammer, and ahead of him were the hobbits and Tauriel. A frying pan and umbrella wouldn’t be much use here, as enthusiastic as they were to aid, and Bilbo watched with a small amount of satisfaction as their eyes widened at the sight of Sting being drawn forth. The blue was bright and vivid now.

“Will the door creak?” Ori whispered, and Bilbo snorted.

“If they creak, Primula’s not lived here. Believe me, my cousin will have made sure of that.”

The door opened without a sound, and light from above poured in. Thorin crept silently into the brightly lit hallway. Now that the door was open, Bilbo could make out voices of the orcs. Three separate ones, he thought he heard. One of them was laughing, one was arguing, and yet a third was coughing.

“…just gut ‘em!” Arguing said. “Why can’t we?”

“S’ _poison_ ,” Coughing managed to say. “S’nasty and foul!”

“It’s cinnamon,” a familiar voice said, shaky but angry. _Primula_. “You can’t just wolf it down without anything to drink with it.”

Oh but it was so good to hear her voice, to know that she was alive. Bilbo shut his eyes for a moment and just breathed. She didn’t sound grieved: Drogo and Elodie had to be all right, too.

The laughter finally petered out. “Worth the look on your face, that’s sure enough,” Laughing said. “Didn’t think you could look any uglier.”

“You eat some n’see,” Coughing said furiously. “Go on, ‘ave a bite!”

“I look as dumb as you?”

“I still say we should just gut ‘em and be done with it,” Arguing insisted. “Keep the other hobbits in line. ‘Sides, not like Bilbo Baggins’ll come. We’re not that lucky.”

Bilbo froze. Why did they want him? _Why_?

“He could,” Laughing said. “That one miserable little hobbit got away.”

“Nah, she’s no consequence. He’ll be a good little hobbit and answer the ransom, which means the others’ll catch ‘im. They’ll get all the glory for it.”

Ransom? There had been a ransom made? If ever Bilbo had wished he could be in two places at once, he would’ve wished himself back to Erebor for just a few minutes to see if it was true. What ransom?

And why was he supposed to answer it?

“I’m still ‘ungry,” Coughing complained. “Don’t care about no ransom. I want meat.”

“We’ll have meat enough when the others come wanderin’ to the Shire,” Laughing said, and it began to chuckle. “Don’t you worry none. Might be awhile. But we’ll have our meat, sure enough.”

“Dwarves are no good for eatin’,” Coughing insisted. Bilbo stared up at Thorin in shock and found the look reflected back at him. Dwarves? They were planning on eating dwarves?

The answer tumbled down less like a trickle of water and more like a waterfall let loose all at once. That was why they’d dragged Primula and Drogo and Elodie all the way back to the Shire. They’d wanted Bilbo to follow them out and answer the ransom…somewhere else, since the orcs here hadn’t been planning on catching him. No, they’d been preparing to capture Thorin and any other dwarf who came with him.

Prim and Drogo had been the bait, because after all, if Bilbo answered the ransom, Thorin would go with him or to the Shire to rescue them. They were Bilbo’s kin, after all.

Dwalin curled his lips into a snarl and tightened his grasp on his axes. “We’ll send the hobbits down to the cellar,” he whispered. Thorin gave a nod, his face dark, and moved silently down the hall, Dwalin and Bofur behind him. Esmeralda moved to follow, but Bilbo caught her before she could. She pinched her lips like she was but a child again.

Bilbo wasn’t having it. “We’re safer down here,” he said in a hushed tone.

“I want to _help_.”

“Dwarves!” came the shout from one of the orcs. “Get ‘em!”

“You can help in a minute,” Bilbo said, and he raced up to the top of the stairs. There was the sound of battle in the front rooms, the clang of weapons and the grunts of exertion. An orc cried out and then was abruptly silenced. One down.

Pounding feet down the hallway left Bilbo clinging tightly to Sting until he heard Laughing yell, “They’re getting away!”

Bilbo shot up into the hallway before Ori or Tauriel could stop him. Primula and Drogo were running like mad for the cellar, Elodie on Prim’s hip. “Here, here!” Bilbo called, and they raced inside and down the stairs. Bilbo got a quick look at the orc following them before he hurried back inside and pulled the door shut. He threw the lock and waited, his blade a blue light in the otherwise dark cellar.

Below him, he could hear Prim and Drogo embracing Esmeralda with whispers and gasps of exclamation. He ignored the urge to glance behind him, his thoughts too focused on the door. His heart was racing, pulse pounding in his ears. His fingers trembled on the handle, and for the first time in many years, he thought of the scars that were still there. Faded and barely visible, but Bilbo knew where each one was on his hands. He knew where the other scars all were, too. He forced himself to focus on the impending orc attack.

Nothing came to open the door. He could hear the sound of someone stepping onto the stairs, and when he dared to glance behind, Tauriel was there, bow drawn. She could’ve moved silently, but obviously hadn’t wanted to startle him. Bilbo gave her a tight nod and waited.

And waited.

He swallowed, his eyes trying to watch the handle through the darkness. If they came in, he’d barely be able to see them until it was too late. Tauriel, at least, would have a shot ready, and he had never been more grateful for the elf by his side then now.

Wait.

Bilbo slowly glanced at his blade. It held no glow anymore: it was plain silver, leaving the cellar completely dark. After a moment, he moved up the other stairs, pressing his ear to the door. Not a sound was heard.

“Bilbo, no,” Primula whispered frantically, but he had the door thrown open a minute later. An orc was there, on the ground, a blade through its skull. Bilbo ignored the gruesome sight that made the hobbits below gasp in horror and moved instead down the hall, Sting at the ready. Just because there didn’t seem to be any more orcs around didn’t make it safe. That and the fact that none of the dwarves had returned left his gut churning.

A quick swing of a blade to his right made him duck and bring up his own, then freeze. Dwalin similarly stopped, his axe mid-swing. “Your cousins all right?” the dwarf finally asked.

Bilbo nodded. “Are you all…?”

“Securin’ the house. You-“

“Shouldn’t be up here,” Thorin said, coming from the back rooms into the main hall. He glared at Bilbo. “I was coming to get you.”

“Sting went dark,” Bilbo explained, scowling right back at him. “What was I supposed to do if you were in trouble, anyway? Hide?”

The look on Thorin’s face indicated that yes, that would’ve been the preferred method of Keeping Bilbo Safe. Bilbo let out a sigh. “They’re all gone, and we’re safe. No scouts outside?”

“Just the three orcs watchin’ Primula and Drogo,” Dwalin said. “Bofur’s checkin’ out the front as best he can without bein’ seen.”

The front door opened, and Bofur quickly slid back in. “No orcs nearby,” he said. “Closest are down by the fire. Thought I saw a few hobbits, but it was only a quick look.”

The next step, Bilbo supposed: finding out what they’d done with his kin. Before he could say anything, however, the others were there, hurrying out of the cellar. Then Bilbo found his arms filled with Primula and Drogo, both of whom were wrapping around him like a vine and weeping. His eyes filled with tears and he shut them tightly, clinging to them. They were _alive_. And that was more than Bilbo had been hoping for.

He took a step back after a moment and looked them over. Both of them had a few bruises and scrapes and looked nowhere close to as polished as they usually did. In fact, both of them looked slimmer than before, but they were alive and they were breathing and, for the most part, shockingly unhurt. Even little Elodie was all right, her bright blue eyes watching him intently. He gave her a quick smile and brushed hair from her face, and she gave a shy smile back that was all Primula. “Are you all right?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Drogo nodded. “Nothing we won’t recover from. But Bilbo, I need to tell you-“

A large roar from outside cut him off. Everyone froze. Slowly Thorin crept to the window, Orcrist hanging deceptively loose in his hand. It would be up in half a second to protect those inside, and Bilbo let the feeling of being protected, being shielded from harm, fill him. As frustrating as it could be for Thorin to consistently place himself in harm’s way for Bilbo’s sake, there was a comfort to be had there, too. He’d faced Mordor and the Ring and the orcs on his own. He was capable of handling the worst the world could throw at him.

It was nice to not have to, to know that he had someone to stand there with him.

Thorin pursed his lips. “Orcs?” Bilbo asked.

He gave a short nod. “Orcs,” he said. “Not a large amount, but enough. There are hobbits around the fire now.”

Bilbo froze. “Around the fire?” Tim exclaimed. “They’ll burn them!”

“I do not think that is the intent,” Thorin said, his voice low. He didn’t look any more relaxed, though, and Bilbo felt like a string pulled too tightly. Any minute, and he would snap. “I think they are merely gathering them.”

“Why?” Hamfast asked. “Why would they do that?”

Thorin glanced at Dwalin. Bilbo shut his eyes. “Because they know we’re here,” he said softly. He went to the door and carefully opened it a small crack. Not enough to let out the light from inside, but enough to hear what was going on.

Enough to hear when a large, tall orc shouted from in front of the fire, “I want Bilbo Baggins, and I want him _now_!”

Oh they knew. How they knew, Bilbo didn’t want to know. But he got his answer all the same when two orcs dragged Adelard forward. The hobbit was clearly terrified, and Bilbo’s heart twisted in his chest.

Wrong. This was all wrong. There was a bonfire leaping into the night in the middle of the Shire, the burning wood stacked far too high for any hobbit to reach. Orcs continued to shriek and laugh, and below them, on the ground, huddled as close to the fire as they dared, were a great number of hobbits.

Ransom. They were ransoming the Shire for Bilbo.

Bilbo began to open the door, but was dragged back by Thorin. “What are you doing?” his husband hissed.

“You think they won’t kill those hobbits for me?” Bilbo said. “Thorin, I have to go out there.”

“You give yourself up to them, you’re as good as dead,” Dwalin growled. “Not happenin’.”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Bilbo insisted. Thorin looked furious, but his fingers trembled on Bilbo’s shoulders. Just moments ago, Bilbo had been thinking of how frustrating Thorin’s constant shielding of him could be. Now, all he wanted to do was hide behind his husband. He reached up to cup his husband’s face. “I have to do this. I _have_ to. There are lives on the line.”

“They got Adelard,” Tim said quietly, having stolen to the window. Hamfast buried his face in his hands, and Lobelia looked torn between terrified and furious.

“He was right behind me! I swear he came in with us!”

Bilbo had thought so, too. But in the dark of the cellar, it had been difficult to see. He glanced at his husband. “You know I have to do this,” he said quietly.

Thorin clenched his jaw, moments away from telling Bilbo off. Then he let out a shuddering breath and leaned in to press a kiss to the top of Bilbo’s head. Bilbo shut his eyes and held on. “Not alone,” Thorin swore. “You do _not_ go out there alone.”

“If you go out with me, they’ll have two prisoners and not just one.”

“I didn’t say we would go out together,” Thorin countered. Bilbo blinked.

“What?”

“Surprise ‘em?” Gimli asked, and Thorin nodded.

“Your walking down there will keep their attention focused on you. Then we can come up from behind. Thirty orcs will turn their attention on us than on you or any other hobbits.”

Bilbo swallowed. “All right.”

“You don’t have to-“

“I do,” he said, cutting off his husband. “I do. I won’t see the Shire hurt because of me. It’s me they want, and it’s me they’ll get.”

“Not if I can help it,” Thorin said, and his hands were steady now on Bilbo’s shoulders. “We’ll come around from behind. You will not be out there alone, beloved. I _swear it_.”

“Bilbo Baggins! It’s you or your little friend!”

The angry shout from outside only made Bilbo flinch. It sounded so much like the orc from the tower, in Mordor, ten years ago. The orc who’d nearly eaten him. Sweet Eru, he couldn’t do this.

But he had to, and he had to do it swiftly. Thorin looked ready to scrap the entire idea in order to carry Bilbo off somewhere safe, and as much as Bilbo would’ve loved for him to do that, he couldn’t. Not with the lives of all the hobbits depending on him and what he would do. “Hurry,” was all he said. Thorin gave him another kiss on his forehead and raced for the cellar. Bilbo closed his eyes and started counting in his head. _One apple-cart, two berry bushes, three chefs cooking, four dandelions, five eggs cracked, six ferry crossings…_

His mother had taught him the rhyme, many years ago. He could see her now: cradling him in her arms as she rocked to and fro during a night when he’d been ill. She’d sung many a song to him, when he’d had trouble sleeping. He could all but see the messy way she did her hair, hear her voice as she hummed and sang.

Another roaring demand came, and when Bilbo opened his eyes, Bag-End was empty. Prim, Drogo, Bofur, Thorin, they were all gone. Slowly he straightened his back and put his hand on Sting’s hilt. His other hand rested on the edge of the door. Had he given them enough time? It couldn’t wait, not a minute more.

Before the orc could bellow for him again, Bilbo pulled the door open and stepped outside into the night.


	12. For the Shire!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cry will rise up - For the Shire!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there isn't a cliffhanger at the end of this chapter. SWEAR.
> 
> And I bruised both of my thumbs today in a Very Stupid Way that involved my lunch and we'll leave it at that and say that I'm still typing and writing, it's just...hard. When you keep using only the sides of your thumbs.
> 
> Don't judge. I had at least three coworkers helping me and six more coworkers laughing from their cubicles and I STILL wound up having to go buy lunch because of Very Stupid Things. I shouldn't be allowed out of the house, I swear.

The orcs fell silent as soon as Bilbo stepped outside. Even from a distance, Dwalin could see the glimmer of fear on his face. Whether he’d intended to let it show or not, it was a good move: the orcs would flock to him like the predators they were and leave the rear exposed.

Beside him, on the grassy hill they were hiding behind, Thorin was all but vibrating. “Easy does it,” Dwalin murmured.

“My husband is facing a band of orcs by himself,” Thorin hissed. “Would you settle? If it were Ori, would you be settled?”

No, he wouldn’t, Dwalin would be just as bad as Thorin was. “If it were me sittin’ there like you are, would you leave me alone? Or would you try and help?” Dwalin countered.

Thorin glared at him. Dwalin only raised an eyebrow before turning back to Bilbo. His little friend was slowly making his way down the path from Bag-End to the center of town. Every eye was on him, following his every move. Even the hobbits were watching him, hope on their faces. They were hoping he would save him.

Ori came racing back, sliding to the ground beside them. “I found Aragorn and Balin,” he gasped softly. “I couldn’t find Gandalf.”

“He’ll come, and late as usual,” Dwalin growled. As long as the wizard came, though, he didn’t care. Not too much. “Even Fili and Kili are more punctual than he is.”

He winced as soon as he said it, for Thorin’s mood darkened even further. Sure, why not remind him of his two sister-sons, far beyond his reach, while his husband walked to a possible certain death? Why not just twist that knife a little further? “They’re fine,” he said, trying to recover from his blunder. When Thorin didn’t even so much as nod, Dwalin pursed his lips. “And there’s nothin’ you can do about it right now, so stop your broodin’ and focus on Bilbo.”

“Tell me when I can go,” Tim said from behind them. Dwalin glanced back down the hill where the hobbits stood. Drogo had refused to leave the cellar, and Primula had refused to leave him. They’d left the three hobbits there, the little one gazing up with such awe at Dwalin that he’d managed a small smile and wave for her that had left her with a smile of her own. Then they’d taken off racing for the other end of the town, hoping to find a place to hide and plan an attack before Bilbo emerged.

Bilbo was almost down to the center of town, but he was obviously taking his time. Biding time for Thorin and the others, in case they hadn’t found a place yet. “Always clever,” Balin murmured, moving to crouch beside Dwalin. Dwalin gave a short nod.

“I will lead to the left,” Aragorn said softly. “Bofur, follow behind me. Thorin, to the right. If we can move them like streams, we will clear a path for the hobbits to escape.”

“I will cover from here,” Tauriel said with a nod. “Any that stray from your directed paths will meet my arrows.”

Deep and throaty chuckles from the orcs drew their attention back towards Bilbo and the flames. “Aren’t you quite the surprise,” the orc in front said. “Bilbo Baggins, in the flesh.”

“That I am,” Bilbo said, and he projected his voice loudly across the area. “Bilbo Baggins indeed.”

“Filthy Halfling,” one of the orcs spit. “Destroyed Mordor, killed our great Dark Lord-“

“Enough,” the first orc said in a clear, commanding tone. The second orc settled back with a grumble, but it kept its eyes on Bilbo. Any chance to break rank, and it would take it. Bilbo would have his throat ripped out in a matter of seconds. Dwalin tightened his grip on his axes.

“Now can we go?” Hamfast asked.

Dwalin spared him a glare. “No. Stay put.” He turned back to where Bilbo had paused on the path a decent distance between him and the orc. It was clear that the orc who had called out to Bilbo was in charge, and even more obvious when all the orcs turned to watch what it did next.

The orc slowly stalked forward. “Your little friend told us all sorts of things,” it drawled, and Dwalin let his eyes flutter shut. _Damn_. He’d all but forgotten Adelard. Dwalin cast an uneasy eye behind them, wondering if there were orcs circling behind them now. Who knew what the hobbit had told them?

“I’m sorry, Bilbo,” Adelard called, his voice trembling. “Th-They asked if you were here, and I said yes, that you freed me and tried to take me home. M’so sorry.”

Beside him, Thorin inhaled sharply. Adelard still looked as sorry as he obviously was, but it was clear that the hobbit still had his wits about him. He hadn’t said a word about the dwarves. “Well done,” Bofur whispered. “Well done indeed.”

“No dwarves with you?” the orc in charge asked Bilbo. Bilbo glared at it. “Well?”

“Of course there’s dwarves with me,” Bilbo said, chest puffed with pride, and Dwalin stared. Adelard had just gotten them _out_ of a mess, and Bilbo was getting them back in it? What in Mahal’s name was he doing?

But the second orc started chuckling. “There’s no one with you,” it sneered, and Bilbo’s face began to falter. “You’re all alone.”

“No, there’s dwarves with me,” Bilbo said, almost pleading with them. The orcs began to laugh, clearly not believing him. “I-I’m not alone.”

A clever ruse: leave them the bare and honest truth, then falter and make it look like a lie. It was a good act, and one Dwalin hoped wouldn’t get his friend killed.

“ _Now_?” Tim demanded, and Dwalin whipped around to glare at him.

“No! Hold on!”

“Come on, my axe is ready for pickin’ off orc heads,” Gimli said impatiently. Dwalin glared at him until he settled down, but it was clear he’d run out there at the first sign of trouble.

The orc in charge was moving forward again. “I’ll tell you what, little Ringbearer,” it said. “You hand yourself over, and I’ll let the other little hobbits go.”

There was nothing false on Bilbo’s face now, no acting at all. His eyes roamed over all the hobbits, pain flooding his face at each frightened kin he saw. “Bilbo, no,” Thorin whispered, and when Dwalin glanced at his cousin and friend, he found Thorin haunted, eyes desperate. “Beloved, _no_.”

“Would you give yourself up for them?” the orc taunted. “Would the great Ringbearer, the destroyer of Sauron, give himself up for these runts?”

Everyone seemed to be holding their breaths. Thorin slowly began bringing Orcrist up where he could make the most use of it, and Dwalin began creeping up towards the edge. Hopefully Bilbo would be enough of a distraction; the rear orcs were completely fixated on him.

Bilbo swung his gaze to the orc. “I would give my life for any one of them,” he said.

And he would, too. Bilbo would’ve given his life to save a _kitten_ , had nearly died trying to rescue that Gollum creature that had almost killed him. There was no doubt in Dwalin’s mind that the hobbit would actually give his life if just to save any single one of those below.

“On my mark,” Aragorn whispered, and the orcs were just beginning to move towards Bilbo to take him. Thorin had a death grip on Orcrist, and Dwalin knew there wasn’t going to be an orc between him and Bilbo by the time his cousin was through with-

“ _For the Shire!_ ”

All heads flew to where Tim and Hamfast, with Lobelia leading, stood over to the side, away from their hiding spot but straight out in the open. “What are they _doing_?” Ori hissed, but it was too late. Lobelia ran down towards the center of town, her umbrella leading the charge.

“For the Shire!” she shouted again. “ _For Bilbo!_ ”

There was only one moment of hesitation before the orcs began to move, but in that moment, something strange happened. All of the hobbits suddenly rose to their feet with shouts and yells of their own and began pushing back against the orcs. As strong and big as the orcs were, as laden with armor and weapons as they were, there were far more hobbits than there were of them.

“For Bilbo!” Esmeralda yelled and began to descend, Gimli already happily running out before her. Tauriel cursed in Sindarin, if her tone was anything to go by, and began firing arrows at the orcs. Bilbo was wading in, Sting a bright blue glow ahead of him, and before Dwalin knew it, _Thorin_ was gone, racing over the hill with a battle cry.

“Surprise,” Balin said dryly and ran after him. Dwalin raced down and took out an orc that the hobbits had mostly cornered. The orcs were trying to take swings at the hobbits, but any orc that so much as brought its blade up was felled swiftly by Tauriel. Aragorn was there, taking broad strokes far above the heads of the hobbits, and Ori was swinging his warhammer with righteous vengeance.

Dwalin swung his axe straight up into an orc head, then brought his other axe down at an orc that was trying to run at the hobbits. A loud clanging sound made him jerk around, and he watched as the orc fell over in a heap. Behind the orc stood Hamfast, his pan gripped in both hands. “Mister Dwalin,” he said with a nod, and then he swung at another orc that came too close. It went down, spinning to the ground.

A frying pan had merits, then. Good to know. “Lemme see that,” Dwalin ordered, and Hamfast tossed it his way. He caught the handle and swung hard at the next orc that was stupid enough to charge him. The orc flew over a few running hobbits and landed on the ground in a crumpled heap. “Not bad,” he muttered to himself, looking the pan over. Not even a dent. “Not bad at all.”

“For the Shire!” Lobelia shouted near the fire, and when Dwalin looked up, there were no more orcs left. All of them were either dead on the ground or wishing they were dead. The hobbits raised up their fists with a cry, echoing her words, and Lobelia led it again, her closed umbrella bright in the night above her.

Dwalin scanned the area. The fire was all but a beacon, given the height, and it was enough to pick out faces in the crowd. Tim and Gimli were off by one side, Esmeralda not far from them. Bofur had joined with Ori, thankfully, and Aragorn was doing much the same Dwalin was by scanning the area. Adelard was free and hurrying over to Bilbo, and right by Bilbo’s side stood Thorin. Balin headed in Dwalin’s direction, an eyebrow up at the pan. “Interesting weapon choice, brother of mine,” he said.

“It worked,” Dwalin said, but he handed it back to Hamfast. Hamfast took it with a sharp nod and twirled his wrist once before bringing it down by his side. Honestly, if he could just get some of the hobbits to come out to Erebor, his Guard would be in much better shape. As good a group of dwarves as he had, they’d be that much better with the ruthlessness and sharpness of the hobbits by their side.

“For Bilbo!” Tim shouted, and another chorus of cheers went up. Bilbo just gave a weary smile and glanced over at Lobelia. She looked a little more worn than she had before, skirt torn and hair hanging down about her face like a young maiden, but in the firelight, she looked like a warrior, her umbrella hanging like a blade in her hand. She nodded in Bilbo’s direction with what actually looked like a cheeky grin.

She almost looked pleasant.

“For Lobelia, who led the charge,” Bilbo called out suddenly, and another wild cheer went up. Lobelia froze, blinking at everyone as they called her name and raised their voices in her honor. Slowly she began to smile, and it was as if she’d transformed from the narrow-eyed, sharp tongued beast into a beautiful young hobbit. From the crowd suddenly came a hobbit with a young boy at his side, and both of them rushed into Lobelia’s embrace.

Hamfast took off, and the cheering took another turn as loved ones reunited. Balin clapped a hand to Dwalin’s back, and Dwalin grinned, even as he glanced across the town square to where Ori stood. Ori gave him an almost shy grin in return. Dwalin winked at him, only making Ori grin all the more, and it was like he could breathe again. He felt like laughing, a huge belly laugh that would echo to the skies. It felt like they’d been facing a mountain and found a mound of dirt instead.

Bilbo was safe. The Shire was secure. The hobbits were all alive, and the orcs were dead. Life was good. _Damn_ good.

A scream echoed through the air, and Dwalin swung around to where the leader of the orcs stood. Blood flowed down its head and armor, but it was still on its feet, and it was raising its weapon to Bilbo. “I’m gonna cut your throat, no matter whether she wants you alive or not!” it snarled. Thorin stepped in front of Bilbo, a clear indication of _you will not get past me_. The orc charged, then suddenly collapsed.

All eyes swung up to the figure in white, who was slowly lowering his staff. Dwalin rolled his eyes. “Late as usual,” he called.

Gandalf leveled him with a very unimpressed look. “A wizard is never late: he arrives precisely when he means to.” He glanced over at Thorin and Bilbo. “I found two stray orcs, but beyond that, the border was clear. A trip to Buckland may be our next waypoint, to ensure that there are no more orcs remaining anywhere in the Shire.”

“Agreed,” Thorin said. But he looked reluctant to move away from Bilbo, and Bilbo looked a few moments away from falling over in sudden exhaustion.

Dwalin made his way over to the wizard. “I’ll come with you,” he said. “Ori?”

“I’ve never been to Buckland,” he said as a reply, and Dwalin grinned. If there was ever a dwarf he could depend upon that wasn’t kin, it would be his husband. His beautiful, shy, but incredibly dangerous and reckless, Ori. What he’d do without him, he didn’t know, and he hoped he’d never find out.

“Me neither. I think it’ll be fun.”

“I’ll go with you, if that’s all right with you,” Hamfast said with a nod. “My wife and little ones are over there. They were visiting kin when the orcs invaded.” He glanced down at his feet. “I just hope there aren’t any more orcs.”

Dwalin gave the little hobbit a nudge. “With your pan and my axes, I doubt we’ll have any trouble at all.”

“There a chance of more orcs?” Gimli asked. “If there is, I’ll go with ye.”

“A fine group,” Gandalf praised. “I will leave Hobbiton in your capable hands, Bilbo.”

Bilbo sighed and all but fell back against Thorin, who managed to catch his husband, but only by dropping Orcrist. “I think I need to sit down,” Bilbo said, blinking blearily.

He should’ve slept the night before, but Dwalin knew he hadn’t. Then they’d run all over, trying to hide from the orcs, and he could see the dawn just starting to slowly creep over the horizon. Two days without sleep: it was a wonder Bilbo was standing at all. “We will find you a place to rest, my friend,” Aragorn said. He took Thorin’s weapon in hand and nodded on towards Bag-End. “I believe we will leave Hobbiton in someone else’s hands for a bit.”

“It doesn’t need to be in my hands at all,” Bilbo insisted. “Leave it in Tim’s hands, or Adelard’s, or Lobelia’s. They could handle it.”

A whirl of blonde hair dashed past Dwalin, and then Esmeralda was rushing into Tauriel’s arms. The elf’s relief was almost physically felt at seeing the little lass unharmed. Bofur watched the both of them, a bit of relief on his own face, and Dwalin almost wanted to poke at him for his obvious affections. Almost. They’d have to figure it out on their own. It was clear, though, beyond the flower that he’d given her, that Bofur wasn’t going to do anything else until Esmeralda made the next move, whatever move it was. He’d pine for the rest of his life, if it came down to it.

“How far to Buckland?” he asked Gandalf after crossing the square. Already hobbits were running with buckets of water to the fire, sloshing it everywhere they could. Bofur quickly wrenched himself from his gazing and moved to help, right alongside Tim and Adelard. Thorin, Dwalin noted, was moving Bilbo up to Bag-End with Aragorn. Balin seemed to be making a quick decision about where he was needed most, and finally decided on Bag-End. Good. There were three hobbits still inside who probably didn’t know that the worst was over.

Though Dwalin still couldn’t believe it. Thirty orcs, finished within what seemed like minutes. A few of the hobbits, the bigger ones, were moving the orcs around, bodies to one pile, unconscious orcs to the other. He thought about moving over and gutting them all now, but there were perhaps five orcs total there, and the hobbits had seen enough bloodshed.

Besides, given that they were being wrapped around and around with thick, sturdy rope, Dwalin doubted they’d get out at all. Even if they did, Bofur was there, and Tauriel too. They wouldn’t get very far.

“We should reach Buckland by noon,” Gandalf said. “And hopefully, be back here by supper, which I have no doubt will be glorious indeed. If ever there was a reason to celebrate, it would be this.”

Dwalin would’ve taken an old crust of bread if it meant keeping the hobbits safe. But a feast was good, too. He remembered the wedding feast from ten years ago, and he remembered it fondly.

If there were orcs in Buckland that would keep him from a repeat of that feast, they would suffer for it.

 

“Enough!”

Legolas came to a short stop when the caravan did. Two of the orcs, who had been bickering about the lack of fresh meat, were hauled off and tossed to the ground by a larger orc. One of them hissed and snarled, but the other one stayed where it had been thrown. The others came to a stop to watch, and Legolas slowly moved forward behind the crag with Fili, Kili, and Nori.

“None of us ‘ave ‘ad meat for days!” the large orc continued. “And I’m sick o’ ‘earing it. Find a squirrel, eat the mud, I don’t care. But you’ll stop your whinin’!”

“I didn’t even want to _be_ here!” the hissing orc said. “I got ordered by _her_ , and I’d just as soon be done with this!”

“There’s gold enough at the end of the line for you to buy the best meat you could ever eat,” one of the men said, as if trying to instill peace. “Isn’t that worth something?”

The orc swung its glare in his direction. “You’d be a fine bit of meat yourself,” the orc snapped. “You offering?”

“I said that’s enough!” the large orc snarled. It kicked at the hissing orc and then jerked its head. “We’re almost there to the docks.”

“Could eat somethin’ in the forest,” the second orc said quietly, and one of the men shook his head.

“You’ll be dead a’fore y’do that. Y’wander into Fangorn, y’won’t come out.”

Legolas glanced back at the others, seeing the same surprise on their faces. Fangorn? Had they come so far south? But how had they missed Lothlorien?

It was a testament to how confused and lost Legolas felt that he had somehow missed their trek over the Great River. They were most certainly in the Wold, and he had known that, too, had remembered his long venture searching the Wold for Kili and Fili, but it had not truly come to his attention until now. He closed his eyes and let himself just _feel_ for the first time in too long.

The wind that blew through the Wold was a remembered friend of many years ago, when he had stood inside Edoras with its people and prepared for war. The ground hummed with the life that rested upon it, and from a distance, a strange, low sound left him confused until he remembered: Fangorn. A magic all its own.

Even after having befriended an Ent, Legolas was still loathe to enter Fangorn again.

“I’m not going into Fangorn,” Fili whispered. Kili nodded.

“They cannot be hiding within the forest,” Legolas told them softly. Up ahead, the caravan was making its way up a hill. They would not be able to follow until they had crested it. There were few places to hide in the Wold. “It must be somewhere nearby, however, if they are coming within range of it.”

“Docks,” Nori said. “Where are there docks? We’re not close to the sea, here. We’re as landlocked as can be.”

“Maybe it’s not the sea,” Kili said. He glanced at Legolas. “You can have docks at a river, too, can’t you? And where do we know that has a river next to Fangorn with no one home?”

Isengard. “You think they have taken Isengard again,” Legolas said.

“That, or they’re borrowing the river,” Fili said. “I think he’s right: I bet they’re using the river near Isengard. Maybe to get to the sea itself.”

“How do you borrow a river?” Kili asked incredulously, and Legolas let himself enjoy the look on his husband’s face before glancing around the crag. The thieves were gone, and he could hear them moving down the other side of the hill.

Nori seemed to be of the same mind when Legolas turned back. “We send a raven now or later?” he asked.

Fili thought it over. “Later,” he said at last. “When we get close enough to actually find out what they’re planning.”

“I still don’t know how you borrow a _river_ ,” Kili muttered. Legolas smiled. Even in the midst of the unknown, potential danger and fear leading them onward, their kin far beyond them, Kili could still bring a sense of hope and light. _May he always carry that light_.

Even if the words of Bilbo’s young cousin had sent that all too familiar spike of fear through his heart. If he focused on that now, however, it was all he would see. Kili was a capable fighter and a skilled bowman. Legolas had to believe he would be all right. And Legolas would remain beside him to ensure it remained that way.

He only wished he could offer Fili the same comfort. But the lives of men were among the shortest of mortals, just below that of hobbits. He thought of Bilbo, and he thought of Thorin, and his heart ached once more.

“C’mon,” Nori whispered, and Legolas swiftly moved out from around the crag to the next one. Fangorn was close now, close enough that Legolas could see the trees, even from this distance. What the forest, and potentially Isengard, would hold for them, he did not know. He could only hope that what they found would aid them all.


	13. The future of Esmeralda Took

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few surprises come to light, and Esmeralda must make some difficult decisions.
> 
> A brief respite.

Primula was doing what she did best: she was fussing. She’d already made several loaves of bread, two of which were cinnamon. Bilbo wondered if that was a direct response to the orcs who’d hated it, and found that he didn’t have the energy to be amused. He needed sleep, sleep without dreams, without those horrible nightmares that kept waking him, leaving him breathless and terrified and searching desperately for his husband.

Every nightmare brought a more vivid picture. Kili and Fili, slain by arrows. Other dwarves scattered around them. And Thorin, bleeding out, trying desperately to say something before the shadow of Erebor fell upon him and took him.

Bilbo rubbed at his eyes, feeling like a child who’d missed their nap. If he could be promised sleep without terror, that would be lovely. As it was, though, he was afraid to close his eyes. He _hated_ that nightmare. Hated it and was helpless against it and the growing feeling of nervousness it gave him. That it would happen, without him being able to do a thing to stop it.

Maybe now it would be better, with the Shire safe, and the knowledge that Thorin was safe inside Bag-End behind him. Even now, in the sunlight, he could hear the joyous exclamations as more hobbits continued to find kin and friends. He smiled and leaned back a little more on the bench. At some point, he was going to be bombarded with someone bearing something – they’d gotten sneaky about it, a cup of tea here, a biscuit there, just checking the weather – but for the past half hour, he’d been left in peace.

Though he had no doubt that Thorin was still watching him through the window. His husband had been painfully protective since Bilbo had said he’d walk out to the orcs alone. It had ended well, but he doubted Thorin was going to see it that way.

A rustling of fabric caught his attention, and when he glanced over towards the door, Esmeralda was there. She had a broom in hand, and seemed intent on sweeping down the path. Bilbo shook his head. “So who sent you out here: Thorin or Prim?” he asked.

Esmeralda pursed her lips at being so easily found out. “Both,” she said, and she set the broom aside to come sit beside Bilbo. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and Bilbo was reminded of how painfully young she still was. She had grown so much since he’d last seen her in the Shire, but she still had an air of innocence that was slowing being stripped from her, like a rose with petals being plucked away until only the soft, delicate center was exposed to the harsh elements.

“Are you all right?” she asked him.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow she couldn’t see but would probably still hear in his tone. “I should be asking you that.”

She shrugged against him. “I’m better off if I’m helping. And I want to help you. You’ve always helped me, and now I can return the favor.”

“How about you help me by explaining about Bofur and his token?”

Esmeralda pulled away and blinked at him, and Bilbo was a little surprised at himself for even bringing it up. Still, it was out there now, and Bofur was nowhere in earshot, so now was the perfect time to ask.

“It…it was just a gift,” she said after a long moment. “He’s not a hobbit, he can’t know what it meant.”

Bilbo pinned her with a look. Esmeralda’s cheeks were visibly pink, a bright flush that spread across her face. “I suppose he’s been friendlier with me than the others,” she finally conceded upon his unrelenting stare. “Perhaps even fond.”

Bilbo clearly remembered the use of the word ‘fond’ in regards to himself and Thorin, and could still hear Kili’s words as clear as day. _“He’s fond of a good ale, he’s fond of Orcrist, he’s in love with you!”_

Oh yes. He knew what ‘fond’ meant, even if Esmeralda didn’t quite know it yet. “But you still took it. And you do know what it means.”

“I didn’t love Saradoc,” she said, and she looked as if she immediately regretted her words. “I…I just didn’t. He was a friend, and a good one, but I never felt my heart call for him. I grieve for him because he was a friend and he shouldn’t have died and I felt as if my entire future went with him. But my heart didn’t break and die with him.” She swallowed. “And Bofur…is kind. And I truly thought it was just meant to be a gift, so there would be no harm in it.”

“Then tell me what it means,” Bilbo entreated earnestly. “Because while a token is simply stating that there’s an attraction, it _does_ tend to lead in a more serious direction, and you’ve only gotten to meet him on this journey!”

“I’m not marrying him,” Esmeralda said sharply. “He looked so earnest when he gave me the gift but I thought he didn’t know and it would just be a gift. But if he meant it, I…wouldn’t be opposed to a courting. One day. Not now. But one day, perhaps.” She looked at Bilbo so defiantly that he wondered if this was what his mother had looked like when she’d declared she would marry a Baggins. “Well?” she asked.

Bilbo let out a sigh. “I’m not opposed to you and Bofur. I simply don’t want you to do anything rashly that would hurt you _or_ him. He’s one of my closest, dearest friends.”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Good.” He gazed at her for a long moment, seeing the young little hobbit that used to climb into his lap for her afternoon nap. She was a grown woman now, and if she decided to venture towards more than a friendship with Bofur, it was truly none of his business. The thought of her being hurt, of Bofur being hurt, however, was more than he could stand. “Just…take it simple, take it slow.”

“I _know_ ,” she said fondly. “I know. All I’ve essentially said, by accepting the token, is that he’s a very handsome dwarf. You did the same, and now you’ve got Thorin.”

“I know that, I just-“

“Want to fuss. It’s all right: we’ve been doing nothing except fussing over you.” She brushed hair back from his face, her smile falling. “You’ve got dark circles under your eyes,” she said quietly. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

Fortunately for him, Primula’s voice called out through the open windows, exclaiming what the smell of fresh baked bread would’ve told him. “Hot from the oven!”

Esmeralda stood, then stopped when Bilbo didn’t immediately join her. “Go on,” he said, nodding towards the door. “I’ll be along in a bit.”

“I’ll try and save you a piece, but there’s no promises,” she said, and then she was gone. Bilbo turned himself back to the Shire. The burn pile from the center of the town was gone, and he couldn’t see any remnants of the orcs. Hobbiton would recover. The hobbits would heal.

“I never gave you a token.”

“Eavesdropping is a horrible habit,” Bilbo said without even turning to look towards the door. Thorin, he was certain, was giving him a cross look, and he smiled. “Here in the Shire, the oft heard defense of a child is, ‘I wasn’t droppin’ any eaves!’”

That earned him a soft chuckle. Still a treasured sound, even after all these years. Bilbo did look over then and found Thorin leaning against the wall beside the door. His hair hung about his face, catching the random breeze, reminding Bilbo so much of their adventure ten years ago. Even with the more ample spots of silver, he still looked so regal and handsome.

“Still, the fact remains. I never made you anything,” Thorin said. “When I wished to court you. I made you things for the wedding, but I never created something to herald my affections.”

“You did, actually,” Bilbo said a moment later. Thorin frowned. “I still have it.”

“You do?”

Bilbo hummed and settled back on the bench. “I do. I even use it, too, when I need to, when the ankle’s a bit sore.”

The widening of Thorin’s eyes brought realization and pain. “I did not craft that cane to signify my affections-“

“But you did,” Bilbo said, smiling. “And I was certainly assured of them. It’s a beautiful craftsmanship, your time poured into something that I could not only use, but something that would make me think of you.” He paused and glanced down at his ankle. It felt fine now, and usually did, most of the time. But there were still cold nights where it ached so much that he feared putting weight on it. Here in the sun, it was warm and feeling perfectly well. “It’s one of the reasons why I haven’t hated needing to use it,” he said in a softer voice. “Because you made it for me to help me. _You_ made it for _me_. So yes. Our courtship may have been a bit odd, by typical standards of hobbits or dwarves, but in that regard, you did everything by the book.”

Thorin seemed to take that into consideration. “Then I suppose I won’t be too upset, when you use it,” he said, and Bilbo had never quite thought of _Thorin_ being wounded by Bilbo’s use of the cane, as he had made it for Bilbo. Then again, Thorin had made it after finding Bilbo on Mount Doom, had probably crafted it just to do something when Bilbo didn’t wake immediately. He could imagine Thorin had some unsettled memories with the cane, much as Bilbo did.

But it was still one of the greatest gifts he’d ever received from Thorin, and he cherished it.

“Good,” Bilbo said. “Because my husband made that cane, you know. So I’ll not hear anything terrible about it. Not one word.”

A corner of Thorin’s lips turned up. “Of course, my apologies.”

Bilbo gave a sharp nod, drawing a chuckle from his husband. “Are you going to help keep the wall up all day, or are you going to come sit beside me?” Bilbo finally asked.

“My goal was to bring you back inside to at least eat something,” Thorin said. “If I sat down, I wouldn’t exactly be doing my duty, would I?”

“A few minutes,” Bilbo wheedled. Thorin didn’t look impressed. “Just…just you and me, for a few minutes?” And he hadn’t meant for that to come out as sincerely as it had, but their initial small venture to the Shire was building into something else. They’d be off again before they knew it, trying to find out more about the ransom, to reunite with Fili and Kili, to find out who _she_ was.

Bilbo just wanted peace again, and he wanted it with his husband. Especially with the horrible nightmares that continued to plague him. No, the only remedy to that was to remain at Thorin’s side, to keep him safe. He’d protected him from the likes of Azog, he’d protect him again.

Whether it was his tone or his words, Bilbo didn’t know, but Thorin finally moved to sit beside him. Once he was there, he seemed to have no trouble wrapping himself around Bilbo and pressing his nose to the top of Bilbo’s curls. “Perhaps I was keeping a distance for myself,” Thorin admitted. “For if given a chance to hold onto you, I wouldn’t let go.” He sounded…strange. Some emotion that Bilbo didn’t understand.

“Thorin, are you-?”

“Absolutely _not_ , Esmeralda Took!”

Both Thorin and Bilbo shot straight up at Primula’s enraged shout. “So much for a few minutes,” Bilbo muttered, hurrying off the bench and back inside with Thorin beside him. He wasn’t entirely certain what he expected to find, given how _angry_ Primula’s voice was.

When he found them, he stopped in the doorway. Esmeralda and Primula were shouting in the middle of the den, fists clenched and all but a step away from a brawl. Esmeralda had her feet firmly planted and seemed intent on not giving ground. Primula also had her feet apart, but her stance was wide and blocking the doorway. On the rug between them was Esmeralda’s pack.

Bilbo held up his hands swiftly, catching their attention. “What on _earth_ is going on here?” he asked.

“Esmeralda wants to go with you,” Primula said, her gaze furious. She whipped back to Esmeralda, who was standing defiantly, arms crossed in front of her. “She’s determined to see it through.”

“I’m avenging Saradoc,” Esmeralda said tartly. “And that’s that. No, you will _not_ dissuade me from coming along,” she said swiftly when Bilbo began to speak. He managed to contain his eye rolling, but only just. She was a Took through and through, that much was certain.

“You can’t just go!” Primula shouted. “Have you no sense at all?”

“I’ll be with them, I’ll be safe as can be-“

“You can’t just go gallivanting off into the wild when you’re _pregnant_!”

That sort of stopped everything. Bilbo stared at Esmeralda, mind struggling to catch up. Pregnant? Esse was _pregnant_? “How…” he started, and then he stopped.

Esmeralda gave him a baleful glare. “If I have to explain _how_ it happens to you-“

“Don’t you give me that,” he snapped. “You know what I’m asking.”

His sharp voice seemed to still hold the same effect and sway it had when she was a child: she glanced at the floor, cheeks bright red, face sullen. “We were in Rivendell,” she muttered. “We were married. Neither of us had…well. Before. And we were perfectly agreed on the idea of starting a family whenever we were blessed with one. I just…”

“Didn’t think it would happen so fast,” Bilbo finished, burying his face in his hands. Not only was she a widow now, but she was perhaps two months along at most.

“How do you know?” Thorin asked, thankfully taking over the conversation.

“She’s been feeling ill in the mornings,” Primula said. “And she asked me for a tea with cream.”

“How does that-“

“She hates tea and cream,” Bilbo replied to his confused husband. “She hates tea with cream more than anything else in the entire earth. Pregnant hobbits tend to crave the thing that they hate the most.” If there had ever been a sign that she was pregnant, that was it.

“And her feet are hairier than ever,” Primula finished, as if concluding a great oratory argument. “She’s pregnant, and there’s no mistake about it. Which means she can’t go.”

“Of course I’m going,” Esmeralda insisted. “Thank you _very_ much.”

Bilbo slowly raised his head. Her face was set and determined, but he had news for her. “If you think we’re going to let you go along, I’m afraid I’m going to break your dreams,” he said. “I wasn’t entirely certain about your going in the first place, but now that you’re pregnant, I’m even more convinced that you should stay here.”

Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Bilbo didn’t move, simply held her gaze. “You’ve more than one life to think of now,” he said.

“Why do you think I’m going?” she said. “Bilbo, as long as those thieves are out there, even the _Shire_ isn’t safe. They swept in easily, and even though we managed to tear down this group, what’s to say another bigger troop won’t come in and take over?”

He began to speak, but Esmeralda kept going. “My child deserves to live in a world where we have peace, and that won’t happen as long as those orcs, those thieves, are around. I won’t let him grow up in a world with that.”

“Him?” Thorin asked, finally stepping into the conversation again. “It could be a her.”

Esmeralda shook her head, glancing at her belly. It wasn’t even swollen yet, but Bilbo could well imagine her handling motherhood with a smile and a glow. “It’s a him,” she said firmly. “I just know.”

“And you’re willing to endanger him to, what, tear apart orcs?”

“I’ve been safe with you so far,” Esmeralda said in response to Bilbo’s incredulity. “I’ll be safe with Tauriel. And if you leave, I’ll just follow right after you. I might as well go with you where I’ll be protected.”

Eru save him from the stubbornness of young hobbits, especially those from the line of Tooks. The thought only made him feel older than he was, like one of the older hobbits who sat on their porch and yelled at the children who ran around and down the lane. The thought only depressed him all the more. “I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe,” he said, willing her to just _listen_. “Esmeralda, I can’t.”

She bit her lip, looking uncertain for the first time since this entire argument had started. “You could stay here, with Primula and Drogo and Elodie, and you could have the baby and you could have a wonderful life here. You don’t _have_ to go.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment. For a few heartbeats, he hoped that she would stay, that she wouldn’t insist on going on this crazy venture with them, no matter where it led them.

When she looked up at him, though, he knew it was a lost cause. “I do,” she said softly. “I have to. I watched them…I watched them kill Saradoc. They took over the Shire. I won’t feel safe until I know they’re gone. I _have_ to do this. And I won’t have a better chance than now.”

Bilbo shut his eyes tight. He knew all too well the feeling she had, of needing to see something done. Even when everything had been against him, he’d still carried the Ring to Mordor because it had to be done. And he’d needed to see it through. It was the Took part of him that had driven him onward, but he liked to think it had been his Baggins side that had bolstered his courage.

And it had been his heart, full of love and pain for Thorin, that had pushed him to finally cast the Ring into the flames.

Primula, too, seemed to have lost her fire. She began to speak, then stopped, then tried once more to say something. When it was finally clear that she wouldn’t be able to produce words, she turned and left the room. Esmeralda stayed where she was, still determined, but she looked more lost than Bilbo had ever seen her before.

He wasn’t certain he had words, either. But he moved over to Esmeralda all the same and wrapped her in his arms. She clung to him, tucking her head beneath his chin, all but hiding herself in his embrace. “She’ll come around,” Bilbo murmured. “She won’t stay mad, not at you. She’s just worried.” _And so am I_. The thought of Esmeralda facing off against an orc was a terrifying one in and of itself.

Esmeralda facing off while trying to cradle her belly, to protect her son…Bilbo felt his gut churn. He would be beautiful, and he would be full of trouble, just like his mother, with hopefully a bit of his father’s solid and sure footing to even him out.

If an orc or thief tried to take the promise of a child from her when she wanted to see her son born to a safer world, they would rue the day that _they_ had come into existence.

Another thought came to mind. “You need to speak with Bofur, and you need to straighten each other out,” Bilbo said softly. Esmeralda nodded from under his chin. What she’d say or how she’d say it, he didn’t know.

The sound of a throat clearing caught all of their attention. Drogo stood in the doorway, hands tucked behind his back. “Primula says to come and eat,” he said. “She’d have come herself, except apparently, she forgot about a loaf of bread in the oven.”

“If only she’d forget about _my_ bun in the oven,” Esmeralda muttered, and Bilbo choked on his own air for a moment.

Her child was going to be trouble. Complete trouble.

They headed into the dining room, the smell of slightly burned bread indeed filtering through the air. “Esmeralda, I could use your help,” Primula called from the direction of the kitchen. It was a peace offering, one that Esmeralda eagerly took as she bustled towards her voice.

That was one trouble off his mind, at least: they would make up, and both would be the happier for it. Now it was simply Esmeralda coming that would weigh on his mind. On top of a ransom, the orcs that remained in the Shire, Fili and Kili and the others as they hurried after the thieves, and why they wanted Bilbo as their prize.

Just little things, really. Bilbo rubbed at his eyes again. “If it will be a bit longer before we eat, you could rest,” Thorin said quietly from beside him. His husband looked just as concerned as he sounded. “You’ve been up for two days straight, beloved.”

“So have you,” Bilbo pointed out, but he unfortunately followed up his rather striking point with a yawn.

“I got sleep the night before,” Thorin countered, looking highly unimpressed with Bilbo’s wakefulness. “You did not. And I _know_ you did not.”

“Prim’ll have the food out in a short bit anyway, so there’s no point fussing about it,” Drogo said, cutting in. “You’re welcome to join Elodie for a nap after we eat, though. Plenty of beds for you to take a rest in.” He glanced in the direction of the kitchen before he lowered his voice. “I wanted to tell you, before they came out. About _her_.”

Bilbo blinked. Drogo’s anxious face, before he’d gone out to face the orcs, came to his mind. “You know about her? The person they keep referring to?” Balin asked, coming into the dining room with Aragorn beside him.

Drogo nodded. “I saw her.”

 _That_ was news worth listening to. “What was she?” Thorin demanded. “How foul was she? What sort of beast?”

“No beast,” Drogo said, shaking his head. “She was actually…beautiful. Never seen anything like it. She looked like a statue.”

Bilbo slowly turned his frown to Balin, who wore the same confused expression as he did. Of all the things Bilbo had been anticipating, _beautiful_ hadn’t been on the list. “What was she?” Aragorn asked.

“I don’t know,” Drogo confessed. “I only got a quick look at her before we were taken away. But she had the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen. Almost as bright as Miss Tauriel’s or Mister Legolas’s. But she wasn’t an elf. No pointed ears there. She looked tall, bigger than the dwarves with her. But I don’t think she was human.” He paused. “But…perhaps. Perhaps she was.”

The picture Drogo was painting didn’t match with anything that Bilbo knew. Thorin looked just as bewildered as the others did. What kind of being was she? There were elves, dwarves, men, hobbits, and orcs. There were simply no other beings around the size of a man that walked on two legs. She had to be one of them. And it sounded as if hobbits and orcs weren’t viable options.

Balin moved in closer. “Where did you see her, laddie?” he asked. “Where were you?”

“I don’t know,” Drogo confessed, twisting his hands in front of him. He wriggled his nose in clear anxiousness. “That’s just it, I don’t _know_. We were tied to the back of those horrible beasts and carried into somewhere dark. There were rocks and pillars everywhere, fire blazing in every corner, and she was there on a throne. Then we got hauled away and out of that place and into the outside again. I’m pretty certain we were in the mountains.”

Bilbo frowned, still utterly confused. He glanced at Balin and Thorin and found with surprise that they were no longer puzzled. Instead, they both looked wary and too knowing. “Where?” Bilbo asked immediately. “Where is it?”

Balin shook his head and let out a sigh. Thorin finally spoke, his gaze haunted. “In the Misty Mountains, there was once a dwarven city, one where elves and dwarves met and traded in peace. We dwelt there for many years until it was lost to us.”

“Moria,” Aragorn murmured. Thorin nodded.

“Moria. That was the name the elves gave it, and it is a fitting one.”

Moria. Bilbo knew that name, mostly from stories Thorin had told. “Is that…is that where you fought Azog the first time?” he asked quietly. “Where you took his arm?”

Thorin nodded, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. Bilbo knew where he was, too: he’d lost his younger brother and his grandfather there in the Battle of Azanulbizar. Outside of Moria, the dwarves had lost too many, and worse still, had not reclaimed their ancient city. He caught Thorin’s hand in his and squeezed it in comfort. When Thorin looked up, though, he still looked lost, but there was also that strange emotion again that Bilbo still didn’t quite understand. He’d only recently begun seeing it on Thorin’s face, but there was a distant memory of it, something so blurred Bilbo didn’t even remember when he’d seen it.

“A place of woe and dread,” Balin said, shaking his head. “One I wouldn’t be eager to enter again. But if we must, then we would. She sounds too dangerous to leave in power.”

Primula came out then with Esmeralda, various plates in their hands. “Esse, can you find the others and tell them the table’s set?” Primula asked. “I can get the rest of it from the kitchen.”

The only two missing, the only two still here in Hobbiton, were Tauriel…and Bofur. Bilbo met Primula’s gaze over the steaming food. Primula met it evenly and without a qualm. Esmeralda completely missed the glances and quickly darted off and through the door. Well, she needed to speak with Bofur, and she wasn’t going to get a better chance to do so then now.

Thorin watched her go, still looking much the same. “You’re as bad as he is,” Primula said, nodding towards Bilbo. “Put your fears aside: the Shire’s safe, and thanks to you. Come eat, Thorin. You too, Bilbo: you could use a few more pounds.”

Fear. _That_ was the strange look on his face. It had been a long time since he’d seen such abject fear on his husband’s face. Now that it had been identified, however, Bilbo could clearly remember where the blurred memories were from: Mount Doom, where Thorin had found him. He’d thought Thorin a hallucination at the time, something his mind had made up, and he’d thought that the fear and concern and sheer panic on Thorin’s face had been a figment of his imagination.

But it hadn’t been. Thorin had truly been that worried. And his husband was wearing much the same look on his face now.

Bilbo tugged at Thorin’s hand, pulling his gaze away from the open door. “We’re safe,” Bilbo said. “Safe enough to eat and maybe even take a well-deserved nap. We’re not dying today: that’s for a much later date, when we’re old and feeble,” he added with a grin. Balin snorted and shook his head, and even Aragorn gave a grin.

So caught up in sitting down and watching the others that Bilbo completely missed the pain that flashed across his husband’s face, amplifying the fear. When he glanced back, however, Thorin was seated beside him, and his fear hidden once more.

  
  


When she found him, Bofur was staring at the ground at an orc corpse, his face so eerily empty of emotions that Esmeralda faltered in her steps. “Bofur?” she called softly.

He shook himself and turned to her, and a small, though genuine, smile lit up his face. “And what brings you down to the lovely town of Hobbiton?” He glanced around, wrinkling his nose. “Could be a bit lovelier without orcs, I s’pose.”

“Or the remains of the fire?” she asked, and he grinned.

“Or that.”

She giggled and watched as his smile went up all the way to his eyes. It made him look even more like trouble; quite the dashing look. “I’m here to inform you that there’s a hot meal ready and waiting in Bag-End. Just a small something to tide us over until tonight; there’s a feast being put on.”

“I had heard rumors of that. Given what I know about hobbits, that meal up there isn’t a small somethin’. But I’m bettin’ there’ll be tea.”

“With cream, hopefully,” she said, and her own words gave her pause. He watched her, his own smile falling as hers did. He looked so concerned, so eager to say something that would help her, but he kept the words to himself.

She’d ease into it. Give him a gentle glide into what was going to potentially be a very awkward conversation. But maybe he’d want his token back. What if he did, and she was left with not even a friendship? Oh _damn_ it all, she had to know now, she couldn’t wait a few more minutes more.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out. Well, she couldn’t have been more Tookish then if she’d tried.

If she hadn’t been as worried about what he would say, she would’ve laughed at his reaction. Bofur had sort of paused in this awkward stance that looked as if he was frozen in the middle of running. His eyes were so wide she thought they’d fall out of his head, and his mouth kept moving like a guppy. Even his hat looked perched precariously on his head.

Esmeralda crossed her arms in front of her, and that seemed to move him into action. He quickly stumbled into standing again, and he pulled his hat from his head to hold in front of him. “That’s wonderful news,” he said, and then a wide smile all but split his face. “That’s _wonderful_ , Esmeralda. I’m so happy for you.”

And he was. He really, truly was. Esmeralda couldn’t spot a single thing on his face that said he was lying. He was honestly happy for her and the little one promised to her. The knowledge left her feeling as if she’d float away, she was so ecstatic.

She was so happy that she burst into tears.

Bofur fiddled with the brim of his hat, as if unable to figure out what to do next. “Don’t cry,” he urged her, and he finally settled for reaching out to pat her on the shoulder. She fell forward against him, wanting somewhere to hide while she cried her stupid tears of relief and who knew what else. If she was going to cry every time she was happy while she was pregnant, she was going to walk around with a scowl on her face. It might even make her laugh.

The dwarf was like a steel rod, tense all the way through. After a moment, however, his arms closed around her, and his embrace was gentle. He held her like Bilbo did: like her happiness was his only goal, and keeping her warm, safe, and comforted was all he wanted.

She finally got down to sniffles and backed away. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t honestly know where it came from.”

“Tears are good,” Bofur assured her. He rummaged around in his pockets for a moment, then pulled out what he was looking for with an, “A-ha!” He stuck his hat back on his head and handed the item over. It was a handkerchief, much like the ones Bilbo carried. Surprised, she couldn’t help but glance up at him with wide eyes. “We all carry ‘em,” Bofur explained. “Long story. It’s all Bilbo’s fault.”

She couldn’t help it: she giggled. Then she was laughing outright, and she buried her face in her hands for a completely different reason. She could hear him chuckling, and when she raised her head, she found him beaming at her. It was enough to bring her laughter back down to amused chuckles of her own. “That doesn’t surprise me,” she finally said. “Bilbo always has a handkerchief on him.”

“Should’ve seen him when we left the first time: didn’t have one on him. Thought he was dyin’, he was so upset.”

So upset that now the dwarves carried handkerchiefs with them. And Bilbo thought _she_ was a crazy one. She wiped at her eyes with the handkerchief, and when the last of the chuckles faded, they stood together, just glancing at each other before looking elsewhere. Glance, look away. Glance, glance, meeting of the eyes, and then they were looking away again.

Esmeralda finally sighed. “I wanted to talk to you about the flower.”

“You don’t like it?” he guessed, brow furrowing.

“No, I love it, but in hobbit culture it means…” She swallowed. “It means that you hold affections for me.”

Bofur didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look surprised, either. “You knew,” she said, not even a question.

“I didn’t know exactly, but…it was a gift. For you. I made it for you, to make you smile. All I wanted was to see you smile. Anythin’ more than that is just a heart’s desire. So I s’pose that it _was_ made with affections in mind.”

Heart’s desire. This kind, gentle dwarf held a heart’s desire for _her_.

When she had held Saradoc’s hand at their wedding, she hadn’t been filled with butterflies in her stomach or a fire burning through her very being. She’d simply been content to hold Saradoc’s hands in hers and smile at her friend, the one she’d spend forever with. There had been a hope, on her face and on his, that one day, their friendship would become a fiery love. But she had never felt that with Saradoc. Their marriage had been arranged, and they had been content with one another.

But gazing at Bofur, she could feel her stomach spinning and her heart racing. He gave her a quick grin, and it made her want to do something funny, like do a cartwheel, if just to keep that grin on his face. He’d wanted to make her smile, and she understood the feeling.

Still, he deserved the right to know everything. “I don’t want to step into courting,” she said. “I was just in a courtship with Saradoc yesterday, it seems. And it wouldn’t be fair to you, and I don’t know how long it would be until I’d be ready for a courtship, and we don’t even truly know each other, or-“

He took her hand and lifted it to press a kiss to her skin. She stopped her rambling and stared at him instead. “I’d wait,” he said quietly. “For you, I’d wait. And if it never happens, then it never does. But I’d rather you be a friend then nothin’ at all.”

Her gentle, kind dwarf. She began to smile, a bright thing that seemed to make his own smile broaden. “I think that would be wonderful,” she said. Then, because the thought hadn’t occurred to her until then, “I think I’m two months along, now. And I’m going with you and the others; I’ve already had an earful from Primula and Bilbo about it, and I’m certain Tauriel will have words, too.”

“Words about what exactly, little sister?”

Esmeralda glanced up at Tauriel, who was standing behind her. “I’m pregnant,” she said. “And I’m going with you. _Please_ don’t make a fuss about it. I’ve heard all the arguments from Primula and Bilbo, and frankly, I’m rather hungry and a bit tired right now.”

Tauriel’s gaze narrowed. Oh, there would be words later, and there was no mistake about that. But hopefully they’d come after they’d eaten.

Eating. The meal. “Oh sweet Eru, there’s food!” she said, and she caught Bofur’s hand with one of hers and Tauriel’s with the other. “It’s probably not even warm anymore, or the tea either, and there might not even be any left.”

“I’m sure there will be,” Bofur said, and he glanced back over his shoulder at the orc corpse. Esmeralda slowed, frowning at him. Tauriel, too, had paused.

“Is it dead?” Tauriel asked him.

“It is now. It had things to say before it died, though. Things Thorin and Bilbo need to hear.”

No wonder he’d looked so solemn when she’d found him. “It’ll keep until after we’ve eaten,” Esmeralda said decisively. This time, when she pulled him away, he went more willingly, and back up to Bag-End they went.

She tried to keep her focus on the warmth of Bofur’s half-mittened hand in hers, the comforting grasp of Tauriel’s hand that kept her steady. Those were better things than the last words of some orc.

She wasn’t certain she was going to make it through the meal without knowing, though. Her curiosity was going to get the better of her, as would her impatience. It was almost a relief, then, to see Bilbo and Thorin waiting at the door with Aragorn behind them. She had a feeling Bofur’s words would make her curse her curiosity.

Perhaps she could get her tea first. And that terrible cream that tasted so good now.


	14. Peace shattered by silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dying words from an orc leave puzzle pieces finally falling into place. The company prepares to make their next move with two hobbits going with them, much to Thorin's dismay.

If there was anything that Ori had come to appreciate while working in Erebor’s great library, it was the silence. And there were varied kinds of silence, too: the hushed silence that typically followed Kili and Fili whenever they came to bother him while he was there. The humming silence that came about from various bodies all moving about the library at the same time, either by walking, putting away books, or writing on parchment at the tables. The thoughtful silence that held the quiet pulse of life when someone merely breathed, concentrating hard on a particular text.

Then there was the one silence that Ori didn’t appreciate, and that was the empty silence. No sound, no thought, nothing except for a swell of emotion that hadn’t quite appeared yet. Usually it was devastation or grief or rage.

Ori wasn’t certain what emotion would follow this silence, but he knew he didn’t want to find out.

Buckland had been perfectly fine; not an orc in sight. Without anything to fight – and that had put Gimli off a fair amount – Hamfast had quickly found his kin and rallied them up to take home. The five little ones that had trailed after him had been all agog, staring at Dwalin and Gandalf. Hamfast’s wife had been absurdly grateful to them all, but when she’d stepped out with the little ones, her belly round and swollen, Ori had understood why. Five little ones was hard enough when raising them alone: five and a brand new babe would’ve been impossible. Ori knew: Dori had raised him and Nori both, and had never once complained about it. The thought had made him wish for his older brothers in a way he hadn’t since he was a child.

He was glad that Hamfast had been safe, if just to see the joyous looks on the faces of his little ones when he scooped them up and held them.

The Shire had been safe, and Hamfast’s family had been well. Ori had been feeling good about life and everything in general, and then he’d gone up to Bag-End with the others and met That Silence. It had been unexpected and very unwelcome. Aragorn had brought them to the den, where the others had been seated. Bilbo had been all but falling asleep against Thorin’s shoulder, finally giving in to exhaustion. He’d stirred when they’d come in, and had been awake enough to listen to Bofur tell his tale for what appeared to be the second time, if the faces of the others were anything to go on.

Ori had gone a little quiet himself for awhile. Thankfully, Dwalin hadn’t been as quiet, and his words had broken the silence.

“Isengard. They’re goin’ to Isengard.”

“So it would seem,” Aragorn said. “For what reason, we do not know, but the orc was very definite in his words.”

Gandalf pursed his lips. “The Fords of Isen lead to the sea. If they were to look for a ransom there, their departure would be swift and difficult to follow.” He hung his head. “May Isengard know peace, one day,” he murmured.

“Why would they want the sea?” Bilbo asked. “What could orcs and men in Moria want in the sea?”

“Wait, Moria? What do you mean, Moria?” Dwalin asked.

Thorin held up his hands. “Drogo told us of a place he was taken to, and it may very well be Moria. My greater concern, however, is why they want Bilbo in the first place.”

Ori cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him. “You heard what the orcs said,” he said. “To Bilbo. They blame him for the destruction of Sauron. There were others who fought for Sauron besides the orcs.”

“The Corsairs,” Aragorn said. He looked troubled at Ori’s words, but he wasn’t refuting them. “Denethor has reported recently that they made to attack Dol Amroth, but with the towers installed, they were repelled. Mordor provided the pirates with supplies and gold. Now that Sauron is gone, they are all but vanished, unable to take anything from the cities on the coast.” He glanced to Thorin. “I have to assume that they would want Bilbo to bring an ample amount of gold with him.”

“Corsairs get the gold, orcs get Bilbo,” Dwalin said. His fingers twitched, as if aching for a blade. There was nothing for Dwalin to strike down, but Ori knew his husband was well imagining the orcs who would take their friend. Bilbo, for his part, looked far too tired to do anything more than bury his face in his hands.

Thorin wrapped his arm around Bilbo, and if Dwalin’s face had been grave, Thorin’s promised destruction on any who tried to harm his husband. “You believe that this is why they want Bilbo,” he said, voice low. “For vengeance.”

“You heard what they said,” Tauriel said. “You heard whose blood they called for, whose blood they wanted.”

It felt as if the puzzle had been revealed to them at last, and Ori’s mind quickly set to putting the pieces together. Bilbo, with undoubtedly a vast amount of gold, would be demanded to travel to the Fords of Isen, where the Corsairs would be waiting, all to free his kin here in the Shire. But the thieves had anticipated that a rescue of the Shire would be attempted, and had sat in wait.

No one looked pleased. Ori frowned. “This is good, though,” he said, and all eyes again moved to him. “Don’t you understand? We have the upper hand here. They don’t know that we moved as swiftly as we did to the Shire. They don’t know that we took the Shire back. Now they have nothing to ransom. We can take them!”

“Fili and the others are undoubtedly on their way to the Fords of Isen,” Balin said. “Ori’s right: we’ve a chance to strike back. We have to take it.”

“What about her?” Bofur asked. “The woman leadin’ the thieves. We don’t know hardly anythin’ about her. What’s she get out of this?”

Esmeralda yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “She’s the queen, of course,” she said, as if that made perfect sense to everyone.

Ori only wished he was part of ‘everyone’. “What?” Dwalin asked for them all.

“The queen,” Esmeralda explained. “Like in the stories. She’s the one behind the scenes, ordering them all about so she can take power. Controlling orcs, men, and dwarves…what’s more powerful than that?”

It was such a simple explanation that Ori couldn’t find any way to refute it. If it was true, if she was merely orchestrating the entire thing in order to establish herself as a figure of power, then what better way to show her authority then to take hostage Bilbo Baggins himself?

“She’s got sway over the orcs, who lost their Dark Lord and want a piece of Bilbo,” Dwalin mused. “The men just want the gold.”

“What of the dwarves?” Aragorn asked softly. Thorin stiffened. “What hold does she have on them?”

Silence fell. Gandalf finally sighed. “Whatever it is, I think it’s high time we got to the bottom of it. One Dark Lord ruling over the fouler creatures of the earth is enough for my lifetime. What have you decided?”

Thorin looked to Bilbo first, who was rubbing at his temples. Ori could only imagine the pain his friend was in: the hobbit hadn’t slept in over two days now, and the adrenaline rush of last night had to be hurting more than helping. It was clear that Bilbo needed sleep, _real_ sleep. They all did.

Thankfully, Aragorn seemed to be of the same mind. “There is a feast tonight, but not for a few more hours, from what Primula has told me. We cannot make decisions such as these without rest and nourishment.”

Bilbo nodded, and Ori worried that his head would fall off. Before anyone else could move, Thorin had Bilbo up in his arms and was moving down the hallway. Ori could hear the king’s soft voice and the lower mumblings of Bilbo. Primula’s voice was heard, a sweet, melodic tone, and then they were walking away and down towards one of the bedrooms.

Ori yawned suddenly, wide and big enough to crack his jaw. He heard a chuckle and found Dwalin beside him, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “Sleep for you, too,” Dwalin said.

“We all need a good kip,” Bofur said. “I feel like I could sleep for a hundred years.” He glanced at Esmeralda, and when she grinned, he did much the same. Ori frowned. What on earth was _that_ about?

“Fill you in later,” Dwalin murmured in his ear. Ori would’ve glared at him if Gandalf hadn’t been ushering them out of the den and down the hall. He hated when Dwalin knew something and he didn’t. His husband was horrible about dangling secrets above his head. Gift-giving days were the _worst_.

“That’s not fair.”

“You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I’d better,” Ori muttered, but he was certain that he would like it. Especially if it had anything to do with the way Bofur kept looking at Esmeralda the way Thorin looked at Bilbo, or the way that Dwalin looked at Ori.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“You ruined the surprise,” Dwalin complained half-heartedly when Ori turned with a dropped jaw. “It was a good one, too.”

“You mean-“

“I think they’re just at the sharin’ of affections part,” Dwalin told him. “But yeah, looks like.”

A bit of bright news in an otherwise dark day of empty silence. Ori felt his smile broadening at the thought of Bofur and the little hobbit lass. He hoped it was each other’s hearts that they’d find. He remembered the feeling when he’d finally spoken to Dwalin that night, after urging from Bilbo. He remembered the way his heart had pounded when Dwalin had taken his hand.

“What’s got you smilin’?” Dwalin rumbled as Primula came towards them down the hall.

Ori smiled and glanced up at his husband. “You,” he said, and then he headed to speak to Primula. She had a room made up for them, and then they were moving down the hallway towards what Ori hoped would be a soft bed.

When he glanced over his shoulder, Dwalin still had the same dumbstruck, awe-filled look on his face that he’d had that night when Ori had first told him how he’d felt for the warrior. It was a good look on him.

Then he hit the bed – just as soft and wonderful as he’d hoped it would be – and with Dwalin beside him, Ori fell asleep almost instantly.

  
  


The sounds from outside promised a great feast was on its way. There was laughter, squeals of joy from children, and the steady thrum of conversation beneath it all. This was a time of celebration, a time of relief and happiness.

Thorin kept his gaze to the wall ahead of him. It had been Bilbo’s room once, Primula had told him. They’d left it for him, for whenever he returned to the Shire. The wall he was gazing at was cast aglow from the lights outside as the party was being set up. If he but turned his head a little, he was certain he would see the dancing flames from the bedroom window, perhaps even catch a glimpse of a hobbit as they walked by.

The only place he wanted to look was down and to his left, where Bilbo slept. Even before he’d made it back to the room with his precious treasure, Bilbo had fallen asleep, nestled in his arms. He’d sorely needed it. Thorin had, too, but sleep continued to elude him. Perhaps tonight, once the feast was over.

He finally gave into temptation and glanced at his husband. Bilbo was curled up against him, hair falling about his face in a messy fashion. Without the burdens of the day, his face was smooth and clear of any frown lines. He looked peaceful and at rest for the first time in several days.

Except that there were lines. Little wrinkles were around his eyes and forming in his brow. Wrinkles that had nothing to do with worry and everything to do with his age. There would be more, in the years to come. They would come swifter than Thorin’s own age lines would, and one day, the wrinkles, along with the face and the smile and his brilliant eyes, would be gone.

Thorin shut his eyes tight. _Not now,_ he insisted to himself. _Mahal, Thorin, not now_. He could not think these thoughts now. He had other thoughts enough to plague him without considering time and fate. Like what would become of his nephews, his sister-sons, wandering after thieves without any knowledge of what was truly going on. Esmeralda, intent on going with them, even while she carried the promise of life. Bilbo, worn and weary, being hunted by orcs and thieves and a mysterious woman.

He had more than enough to worry about without letting his mind and his heart drift to the future. He could lose Bilbo now, to orcs or to exhaustion and illness, and then he would never be gifted the image of Bilbo with a lifetime of laugh-lines on his face. He’d nearly lost Bilbo last night to the orcs; if Bilbo’s plan had not worked, Thorin would have been without a husband. His heart, his very reason for breathing, his beloved. The urge to lock Bilbo into a room where only Thorin could enter was getting stronger with every day. And if it wasn’t a room, it would most certainly be bells in his hair. He could put one in his favorite place: the little patch of grey underneath all his other brighter locks that Bilbo thought he didn’t know about.

He didn’t realize he was brushing his fingers through Bilbo’s hair until his husband nuzzled against his hand. “I disturbed you,” Thorin said regretfully, watching his beautiful eyes slowly and blearily blink open. “Sleep.”

Bilbo determinedly only opened his eyes all the more and yawned. “I hear a feast,” he murmured when he seemed a bit more aware. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours, and you could stand a few more.” At the very least.

But Bilbo was sitting up and stretching, and Thorin winced when he did at several pops in his back. “My father used to crack his joints like that,” Bilbo mused. “My mother hated the sound. Said it gave her the shivers.”

It gave Thorin the shivers, too, but for a completely different reason than Belladonna Took had had, he was certain. “You could still rest,” he began, but stopped when Bilbo gave him a fond, knowing look.

“You could, too. You didn’t truly sit up this whole time and watch me, did you?”

“No, I did not,” Thorin said honestly. He’d only gazed at the wall for the past few hours. But Bilbo didn’t need to know that.

Bilbo looked as if he knew anyway. Thorin decided to switch the topic. “There is no way to make Esmeralda stay?”

His husband sighed and shook his head, dropping his gaze to his quilt. The quilt on the bed was of an older nature but well crafted, steady hands having obviously taken their time with it. In the corner were two B’s, interwoven with one another, softened by age. Thorin could well imagine Bilbo’s mother crafting the quilt for him, and he wondered if Bilbo had been like Esmeralda at that age: impetuous, stubborn, determined, but kind and wanting to leave the earth a better place than when he’d come into it.

What was Thorin saying: Bilbo was still like that _now_. His hobbit had changed very little from that. He was still determined, still willing to help and insistent upon doing so.

“She won’t stay. I wouldn’t, either, if I were in her place,” Bilbo said, just confirming his thoughts. “As much as I hate the thought of her coming along, she _is_ a grown hobbit, and she can make her own decisions. She deserves to, after what she’s gone through.”

“Which is not of your doing,” Thorin cut in before Bilbo could even start to think otherwise. “You only asked that they would come. Hamfast said they could hardly be kept in the Shire upon receiving the invitation.”

Bilbo still looked down at his hands as they pulled and bunched the quilt. “I still hate to think of…” and he couldn’t say anything more.

Thorin understood. He understood far too well. “Beloved,” he murmured, and he couldn’t resist pressing his forehead against Bilbo’s. Bilbo gave a sigh, a contented sound, and Thorin wished he could keep this moment right here. Bilbo and him at rest, curled together in the quiet warmth, only peace about them. This was all he wanted for the rest of his days. This and nothing else.

He had wanted the throne for so long, to remove Smaug from their home, to be able to lead his people to peace and prosperity. That was all he had desired for years. And he had done it: it was his now, his to rule, his to reign, and his people were happy and safe. It was all he could have wanted.

Except. Except it wasn’t. Now he had Bilbo, had had Bilbo’s heart and soul for ten years, and if he had been told by Mahal himself that he could only choose one to keep, his answer would have been swift and simple. And it would not have been his throne or his kingdom that he kept, but rather bright eyes and a swift smile and two pointed, Hobbit ears that he adored and loved to kiss.

The thought, which had come so swiftly, left him unable to push air from his lungs for a long moment. Bilbo didn’t seem to notice, simply brushed his nose against Thorin’s. “We should probably get to the feast,” he said, and began to pull away.

Suddenly desperate for that which he realized he would give his kingdom for, Thorin spoke without thinking, “I would have you remain here with Esmeralda.”

Bilbo froze. Furiously, Thorin’s mind tried to offer a logical reason. “She…would stay, if you stayed. If you remained here in the Shire, Esmeralda would have no other choice but to stay here.”

There was a long moment of silence between them. Finally, Bilbo licked his lips and gave his answer in a slow tone that warned against the wrong answer. “Are you seriously trying to _guilt_ me into remaining here? By using Esmeralda against me?”

“Not against you,” Thorin insisted. “It was merely a thought.”

“Keep it a thought,” Bilbo said, narrowing his gaze. “I’m going with you. And Eru help me, so is Esmeralda. Trying to leave either of us behind will do you little to no good, because only hobbits know the easiest way to the North-South Road except for Gandalf, and I highly doubt he’ll aid you if we’re not coming along.” He moved off the bed and for the door. He paused there and glanced back. “Well?” Bilbo asked impatiently. “Are you coming along?”

Thorin found his own annoyance growing. “It was merely a suggestion, a thought,” he said. Mahal, he’d had to _try_ at least.

“To get me to stay behind,” Bilbo countered. “I know why you were really talking about my staying behind, and it had nothing to do with Esmeralda and everything to do with your ridiculous notion of protecting me.”

“I had to try,” Thorin said, feeling so frustrated and afraid he didn’t know if he could bear it for a moment longer. “You have to understand that.”

Bilbo gazed at him for a moment, his face empty. Then finally he gave a nod. “I do,” he said quietly. “But I’m still going. Someone’s got to watch out for _you_ , too.” He opened the door and left Thorin standing there, fingers itching to just grab his husband and stash him back in the room under the quilt, where it had been warm and safe, to keep him from the outside world and its dangers.

Dwalin could keep Thorin safe. Balin could keep him safe, too. He didn’t need Bilbo out there to protect him. No, Bilbo could, _should_ , stay here. But Bilbo wouldn’t, and where his husband went, so too did Thorin.

He finally left the room, afraid that if he looked back, he would forever beg for his husband and his husband only, and give up everything else he had for it.

  
  


The Shire still held fog the next morning as the company departed. The sun had not even risen, the sky only beginning to hold the warm, reddish hues that would soon blanket the hills. No animal stirred, the birds only barely beginning to chirp and lend their cadence to the morning hues.

That was not to say that Hobbiton was not awake, for it was. Hobbits lined the town and the paths to the North-South Road. Each one, from man to woman to child, stood silently, watching them go. Only when the company passed them did they offer smiles and waves and quiet well wishes. It was against everything that a hobbit typically did, for their usual sendoffs included ale and laughter and exclamatory well wishes.

Yet it was not so unlike the hobbits, in another way, for here there was kindness, here there was sincerity for their good health. Children brought forward plucked flowers, grown hobbits brought forward pastries and meat that would last a few days. It was compassion and gratitude at its finest, and that was a very hobbit trait indeed.

At the outskirts of town stood familiar faces. Hamfast and Adelard stood to the side while Tim was off on the other side with his wife and son. In the middle of the road stood Lobelia, hair loose about her face as it had been the night of the battle. She held nothing in her hands except for the promise of a farewell shake. Even Dwalin accepted her handshake gravely with nary a spiteful response.

When she offered her hand to Bilbo, however, he didn’t take it. Instead, he pulled her into his embrace and held on tightly. She didn’t hesitate to embrace him, her fingers white as they dug into his back. When they parted, there was an understanding between them that she had never known and Bilbo had wished she never had.

They left then, not a head turned back to glance at the town. Only when they reached the top of a windy hill above Hobbiton did Esmeralda stop. Her hand went to her side, and she brought forth her urn. She closed her eyes, pain evident on her face. Her elf-sister and her gentle dwarf moved to her side, but only after she had met her cousin’s strong gaze did she finally pull the lid off. She stood still for a moment, gazing deep into the urn and the only remains of her friend.

The wind pulled at them all, hair crossing their faces, and she tossed the ashes out into the air. They flew on the breeze, up into the sky and across the tops of the trees. They all stood for a moment, some offering silent blessings of passing, others holding memories of loved ones lost.

So it was that Saradoc Brandybuck finally came home. And when his ashes could no longer be seen, Esmeralda put a lid on the urn and left it by the base of a tree, and the company mounted their steeds and flew down the road.


	15. The Fords of Isen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and his small company reach Isengard, but their days of following, hidden behind the thieves, are over.

It was a sight that Fili remembered well, even after ten years: Isengard, with its tall tower that jutted to the sky. Except now there were trees growing where once the earth had been scarred and ripped open. The forest was beginning to creep back in, and it was a wonder to behold. There were the Misty Mountains, stopping straight at what had once been a wall, and around the base was Fangorn Forest. He wondered briefly where Treebeard was, if he was still tending to his trees, if he came down to Isengard to walk amidst the little trees still growing tall.

What _was_ it about Fangorn that made him feel like an elf?

The thieves didn’t stop at Isengard but continued onward past it, stepping on some of the smaller trees and grumbling when they were forced to move the carts around the taller ones. “Bet they wouldn’t be as disrespectful if they knew just what that forest to their right was capable of,” Kili muttered into Fili’s ears.

Fili had to agree. He’d seen a great many terrible and dangerous things in his lifetime, but nothing had struck such a fearful chord in him as much as Fangorn had. The Black Riders, the Nazgul, had put that fear in his heart too. But Dernwyn had killed their leader and king, all by herself.

His wife was capable of defending herself. She _was_. But that didn’t mean he wanted to think of her in danger. Her already short life didn’t need to be any shorter.

“There,” Legolas said softly, pointing up towards a rocky hill. The water slid down over the rocks, nowhere near the gush it had been ten years ago when the Ents had loosed the river. It was a gentle flow now, and the thieves were slowly making the trek up to the higher part of the river. There was only so much of the river that Fili could see: the rest of it wound around and through the mountains.

It also provided a problem. “We’ll never get across and up after them without being seen,” Nori said, apparently thinking the same thing as Fili. “Not without going into Fangorn, and I do _not_ suggest that.”

No, as friendly as the trees had been to their cause ten years ago, Fili wasn’t about to think it was safe to wander into the forest now. “We’ll just be careful,” he said. “The hill’s not steep.”

“No, but there’s nowhere to hide,” Kili said. “They’ll see us within moments. What do we do?”

“Just keep moving as best we can,” Fili said. Kili pursed his lips but nodded, and when Legolas gave the all clear nod, they moved forward, hiding behind foliage and rocks and trees. The remnants of the Battle of Isengard were still clear, from the random shield or crumbled pieces of wall that Fili stumbled over. For the most part, however, the moss had hidden or destroyed the rest of it. The green forest had taken back what was owed to it, and the earth had healed.

They eventually reached the point where there was nothing else for it: they had to climb the rocky hill. “There’s no other way up,” Nori said, shaking his head. “We’ve to take the hill.”

“Legolas?” Fili asked. Legolas peered ahead, then finally shook his head, looking almost disgusted with himself.

“I can see nothing. I need to reach the top to see better.”

Nothing left to it. “Legolas, you first, Nori last,” he said. If there was trouble, he wanted his swift elf-brother in the front and the quick-footed dwarf behind them. That, thankfully, put Kili in the middle, where Fili could protect him as best he could.

He didn’t care if his brother was fully grown and married. Kili was always going to be Kee. And that meant he needed to keep him safe.

Rocks slid beneath their feet, even Legolas’s, as they made their way up the short hill. Fili winced with every tumble of pebbles. The thieves were far ahead of them, but possibly not that far that sounds such as the ones they were making would be missed. They needed to get up and quickly: the less sound they made, the better.

When they reached the top, Fili glanced around, but his eyes were fixed primarily on the view ahead of him. The river wove through the short mountains ahead, and the only way down was into the foliage of trees that curved around the rocky hill. It slid down to a dry patch of earth that was otherwise covered in lush green grass that grew beside the river.

The only thing Fili didn’t see were the thieves. He glanced over at the sloping decline, the only way they could’ve moved their carts. “Where are they?” he whispered.

Legolas frowned, eyes quickly moving everywhere. “I cannot see them,” he finally said, and Fili felt his heart stop. “I can see nothing.”

He knew what would happen even before it did. Still, he tried to throw himself in front of Kili and pull his blades out at the same time. “Go!” he shouted, and then the orcs and thieves were pouring out from behind the trees on the slope, shouting and coming out swinging.

Two orcs fell to his sword, and when a dwarf came at him, Fili all but froze until the dwarf turned to Kili. Kili, too, seemed unable to fight back, and the dwarf had him suddenly sailing off the edge and towards the river below. “ _Kee_!” Fili shouted, and Legolas didn’t even look or pause, just dove off the edge and down towards his brother. Taking the dwarf out was easy after that.

Nori had three men on him, and Fili’s blade brought it down to two. Well, one and a half, really; the other man wasn’t going to put up much of a fight anymore, missing his arm like that. Another orc mistakenly thought Fili would be an easy kill, and he proved it wrong by bringing both blades up to decapitate it.

But they weren’t going to last on the top of the rocky hill. They needed to get down to safer ground as soon as was possible. Flat, wide ground, like the path of earth below. “Come on!” Fili shouted, and he grabbed Nori by the hand and dove under the swinging arms of the men. They raced down the slope and wove through the trees, hearing blades and arrows flying past them. His eyes caught sight of the river and the rocks that almost made a crossing point. He could leap, from one to another, and the river wasn’t moving that fast even if he did get caught, and where in Mahal’s name was his brother?

There, being dragged to shore by Legolas. Fili’s heart stopped in his chest, and if it hadn’t been for Nori, he would’ve missed the jump. They landed on the other side and landed hard, and pain shot through Fili’s hip. “Kee,” Fili gasped, and Nori hauled him to his feet. Kili was shaking himself, already moving, and Fili needed to get up and move too. He pushed himself to his feet and brought his blades up, and not a moment too soon.

A man bore down on him but found Fili’s blade in his gut. Fili used his other blade to push him off and then kept swinging. Legolas already had the orc coming at Fili taken out, and he could hear the elf sending off another arrow. Kili gave a battle cry and fired off shots of his own. If Fili and Nori could just keep them from getting to Legolas and Kili, they could keep the archers defended until…until what? The thieves were all dead?

And more kept coming. He didn’t remember there having been this many. Except these looked different: these looked like men in very different clothing then he remembered following for the past who knew how many days. They were coming up from the river-

From the boats. Mahal, there were _boats_ , and these were-

“Corsairs!” Legolas cried, and Fili ignored the throbbing in his leg and kept fighting. Kili and Legolas were going to run out of arrows, eventually. Nori was spinning and weaving his way through with his slender blade, and his smaller knives were taking care of many of them with ease.

But there were simply too many. Fili had hoped to be done with all the thieves by now, and now, now the thieves had reinforcements. They weren’t going to be able to withstand the onslaught. Already he could hear the volley of returning arrows from the ship that, so far, hadn’t found a target. But given how their luck had suddenly turned, Fili had no doubt it wouldn’t be long before someone got hit.

“They’re coming down the rocks!” Nori yelled, and that was their cover blown. It was time to leave, but there was nowhere to go. Down the open road that led who knew where and offered no cover? Up into the mountains that looked impossible to scale from here? Into the _trees_? They couldn’t even get back to hide in Fangorn, if the forest would permit them to do so.

A sharp cry came from behind him, and Fili risked looking back. Kili was down, wet hair hanging about him, clutching at his gut. And Legolas had been separated from him by several men. Fili’s heart stopped. “Kee!” he screamed.

The pounding of approaching horses was all the warning he got before another onslaught was upon him. Men and dwarves on horses pushed past him, completely cutting them off from the river….and the Corsairs. It was only then that he realized there was an elf among them, an elf with familiar auburn locks, and Fili would’ve known the hearty voice leading the charge anywhere.

 _Thorin_.

With a yell Dwalin was there beside him, cutting through the Corsairs with both of his axes. Then Ori was there, warhammer sending more than one man and orc flying. Tauriel was cutting through the thick of it, and Fili caught a flash of his uncles before they were swept into the fray.

Help was here. Somehow, _somehow_ , they had been found, and help was here.

Kili. His mind shot to his brother, and he glanced back, only to find Kili on the ground, slumped over. Lifeless. He raced forward, ignoring the pain in his leg, pushing past everything that came his way just to _get_ to Kili. Legolas was doing the same, the fear on his face a terrifying thing to behold. _Mahal, don’t you take my brother from me,_ he thought desperately, slicing at a dwarf when he got too close. _Please don’t take Kili. Please._

He was almost there when he suddenly found himself on his back. The orc that had knocked him down looked gleeful at the prospect of taking his life, and Fili informed it otherwise by putting his blade through its chest. Even as it slumped over, however, a Corsair was there, and it was swinging its blade down too fast for Fili to do anything.

He’d always wondered, at the end of it all, what he would think of. His children, Hildili and Holdred, came to mind in that split instant. His mother, his brother who was dying, his uncles. But above all, he saw Dernwyn and her bright smile, her frustrated huff she gave when he was pestering her, her watery eyes when he’d taken her hands in his to wed, her cry of rage when she swung her sword with everything she had.

The blade came down, and the Corsair was flung to the side. Fili blinked, the world coming back into focus.

The Corsair charged again, but the familiar shout of anger was accompanied again with another swift swing of her blade, and the Corsair dropped. Fili stared up as she panted and dropped her sword to her side. “Do _not_ touch my husband,” she said through gritted teeth at the fallen Corsair.

She was there. She was truly there, not some figment of his imagination. _Dernwyn was there_.

Another voice yelled aloud, and he watched as Éomund charged past them and took out an orc. Dernwyn soon had him on his feet, and she gave a relieved laugh. “You’re not hurt?” she asked.

“No,” he said dumbly, and then he was in her arms. He clung back, too stunned to do anything else. She was there, his beautiful Shieldmaiden, his Dernwyn-

His wife. His human wife. His Dernwyn, out here, risking her life so far from the safety of Erebor.

He stepped away, fear and horror hitting him so hard in the gut he thought he would fall over. “Fili?” she asked, staring in concern. “Fili, are you all right?”

“ _Kili_!”

The sound of battle was diminishing, making Legolas’s scream of agony all that much louder, and a quick glance showed that Gimli and Aragorn were taking care of the last of the thieves. He took off running to where Legolas already was, kneeling beside Kili. His face was that of one who’d been gutted himself, and Fili couldn’t breathe as Legolas turned Kili over.

Kili groaned. Fili choked back a sob, too terrified he was only imagining his brother alive. But Kili was stirring, clutching at his gut and blinking his eyes open. “Legolas,” he murmured, and Legolas brushed wet hair from his head. The river: they’d fallen in the river, and it was by no small amount of luck that either of them were still there.

“Let me see, Fili,” Gandalf said quietly from behind him, and Fili stumbled out of the way and straight into someone else, immediately mumbling apologies. Except that someone else was Bilbo, and Fili clung to his uncle, still too stunned to do much else. Bilbo made soft soothing sounds, brushing his hair back like his mother did.

“M’fine,” Kili managed, and then he was sitting up under Gandalf’s careful eye. “Got smacked in the gut, couldn’t breathe. I’m not hurt, I promise.”

“It seems that Kili is right,” Gandalf said, and he patted him on the back. Kili managed a quick grin. “You were very lucky to have been hit with the blunt edge of the blade and not the sharp end. I fear we would have lost you, had that been the case.”

From beside Kili, Legolas looked as if Gandalf had struck him. He glanced at Kili, who was being helped to his feet, then rose himself, only to wander away. Fili could only imagine how he felt; he was left feeling the same.

He forced himself to focus on the company that was gathering around them. Somehow, they were all there, here outside of Isengard. “What are you _doing_ here?” Fili asked, turning to the others. “How did you find us?”

“A little orc spilled the beans,” Dwalin said. “There’s more you need to know.”

“What do you mean, more?” Nori asked. He stood beside Ori, looking far calmer now that he was back beside his brother. Fili couldn’t help but glance to his own brother, who appeared to be standing just fine, if a little pale in the face. “They’re waiting for gold, or they were, before just now.”

“They’re ransoming for Bilbo,” Dernwyn said, surprising them all. Her face was grim. “They sent a ransom demand, asking for five carts of gold and Bilbo to be delivered here to the Corsairs. We couldn’t send a raven; that’s why Éomund and I rode here, to find you.”

Aragorn frowned. “Five carts is a pittance,” he said, and Dernwyn nodded.

“I know. As I mentioned, that’s why I rode.”

“That lines up with what we know,” Bofur said. “’Cept there’s more to it than that.”

Of course there was. Because Fili’s head hurt enough. “What else is there?” Kili asked. He glanced over at where Legolas had gone, frowning until he saw the elf picking for his arrows. “And why do they want Bilbo?”

“Revenge. For the fall of Mordor and Sauron,” Ori explained when all he got were furrowed brows. “There’s a woman who’s leading the thieves, one who’s looking for power, to possibly set up her own kingdom.”

“They’re in Moria,” Balin said, even as the rest of the group attempted to process what Ori had said. “As best we can tell.”

Fili’s head definitely hurt. “Moria? The Mines of Moria?”

“Oh for Eru’s sake, give them a minute,” Bilbo said, glaring at the others. He kept Fili loosely in his grasp, and up close to his uncle now, Fili could see dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked tired and completely drained, but he also looked a little lighter than he had before. “Heads full of rocks, all of them,” Bilbo kept muttering, and Fili grinned despite himself.

“Good to see you,” he said. And it was, it was so very good to see them all in one piece.

Bilbo glanced up and smiled. “Good to see you too. _Very_ good to see you. Your uncle rode so fast on the horse I thought I’d fly off.”

Thorin. Fili shifted to find his uncle and was surprised to find Esmeralda there, with Bofur by her side. “She didn’t stay?” he asked, before realizing that if the Shire was lost, she would have had nowhere _to_ stay. Mahal, he hadn’t considered that option, that they were here because the Shire was gone.

But Bilbo was already shaking his head at the look on his face. “No, it’s all fine, no one’s hurt. We actually found a minimal amount of orcs in Hobbiton, and they were easy enough to disband. Primula and Drogo, my cousins, they’re fine, as is their daughter, Elodie.”

An image of his own daughter, Hildili, came to mind, and with it the image of Dernwyn, riding to his rescue. Dernwyn was here and not in Erebor, where she was safe. Why was she here?

“You should have sent a raven,” he found himself saying. Dernwyn, who’d been busy greeting Bofur, turned back with a frown.

“How were we supposed to send a raven? Fili, the ransom made it sound as if they were keenly watching Erebor, and we didn’t even know where you were-“

“It would’ve been safer than coming here,” he insisted. “Where are Hildili and Holdred?”

“Safe with Dis,” she said. There was a spark of irritation in her gaze now. “I wasn’t going to leave you defenseless, and as I could see, you desperately needed the aid. I was right to ride out with Éomund.”

Fili shifted his glare to Éomund, but the young man was very pointedly looking elsewhere. “Uncle came,” Fili said firmly. “You didn’t have to.”

Dernwyn’s nostrils flared, reminding him so much of when he’d met her ten years ago, except now, now he was just as angry back. She shouldn’t have come, she shouldn’t have risked flying across Middle-Earth to find him. What had she been thinking? She could’ve met with a larger group of thieves, and as badly outnumbered as Fili and the others had been, they’d still numbered four. She and Éomund would only have numbered two.

“I did have to,” Dernwyn said, her voice low. “It seems after even ten years, you still haven’t mastered how to _duck_. So someone capable needs to be here to help with that.”

Those were fighting words, more than Fili had heard from her before, and he stepped forward to tell her just what he thought of them when Thorin stepped between them. “Enough,” Thorin barked. “We have no time for this. We need to move on.”

“Where?” Legolas asked. “You spoke of Moria.”

“Moria,” Aragorn agreed. “If we mean to finish this power struggle, and finish the battle before it has begun, striking at Moria would be our best choice. But we do not all need to go.”

“Good: Dernwyn can go back to Erebor,” Fili said. Dernwyn leveled a glare at him that spoke of how not amused she was. Fili didn’t care: he wasn’t particularly amused either.

“Bilbo and Esmeralda may accompany her,” Thorin said, surprisingly taking Fili’s side. Beside Fili, Bilbo stiffened, and his other uncle looked just as annoyed as Dernwyn did.

“We will _not_ be accompanying her. We’re all going to Moria, from the sound of it, so we need to get moving.”

“I would not have you go bladeless-“

“Good thing I’ve got Sting then,” Bilbo said, and hefted the sword high. It was clean and clear, not a single glow to it, and he slid it home in its sheath before catching Dernwyn by the arm. “Your horse and Éomund's, I believe, would be of some use, if you’d be willing to bear other riders. It’s a long way to Moria, I’m certain.”

The silence that fell felt awkward. Whatever was going on between his uncles had obviously been in contention for some time. All Fili could feel was his fear burning so tightly beneath his skin that he wanted to scratch at his arms and chest. Kili had nearly died, and Dernwyn, _his_ Dernwyn, was here and not where she would be safe. Uncle was obviously in a stew about something and unwisely picking a fight with Bilbo. As if Bilbo would go back to Erebor.

As if Dernwyn would go back to Erebor, either. And it only made him bristle in anger, his heart pounding with fear. The thought of losing her, of her being in pain or even dying, it loomed above him even more now than ever before. He only had so little time left with her, was it so much to ask that she remain safe for that time?

Soon everyone was on a horse, with Bofur riding ahead of Dernwyn and Nori riding with Éomund. Bilbo sat with Thorin, his uncle’s arm tight around the hobbit’s waist. Well, at least their tiff was over. Fili would have to figure out how to do the same with Dernwyn.

When she went back to Erebor. That was when things would be all right again.


	16. Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even as they have come together, the company begins to fracture, one by one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii. I'm back. With angst!
> 
> Oh, sorry, did I forget to give you a side of angst with that plate of angst? Here you go. My apologies. (Am not sorry.)
> 
> Also, in advance, yes: dwarves are thick-headed. And certain people continue to have problems with Talking.

Everything felt so strange. The mountains were perfectly fine, looming tall over them with sunlight running over them on a daily basis. The air was clean, birds flew overhead, and frankly, their hearts were light. Well, should have been light. They had saved the Shire, after all, had rescued all the hobbits and cut off the orcs’ plans to take Bilbo after a ransom demand.

Except their hearts weren’t light, and nothing was all right. The cloud of anger over Fili and Dernwyn was almost palpable. Poor Éomund looked as if he didn’t want to be anywhere close to them when it blew, and even Legolas was acting off, more standoffish than Bilbo had ever seen him before. Yet he remained by Kili’s side, as if helpless to be anywhere else.

Thorin, too, remained by Bilbo’s side. Well, behind Bilbo on the horse, at any rate. But it felt wrong, as if he wanted to be there but didn’t want to be there all at the same time. Bilbo felt about the same: he wanted to perhaps ride with someone else for a short time, but wanted to stay by Thorin’s side all in the same instance.

How many times was Thorin going to ask him to return to Erebor? He knew how to wield his blade, he knew how to defend himself, and yes, perhaps he was a little slower because he couldn’t sleep, but how were nightmares his fault, exactly? He was getting sleep now, and he hadn’t had a nightmare since the Shire. So Thorin could take his utterly _ridiculous_ idea somewhere else. Bilbo wasn’t having it.

He couldn’t keep Thorin safe if he was in Erebor. And with every nightmare he’d had on the way to the Shire, it made him all the more determined to stay by his husband’s side. The thought of Thorin, cold and dead and bleeding out in front of him, was more than Bilbo could take. No, he wasn’t leaving Thorin.

Not that Thorin was going to accept that, not after the last battle. Orcs were one matter, for they were monsters and foul creatures that held nothing but destruction if you let them. Those Bilbo could fight against. But dwarves? And men? Even as twisted and wicked as they might have been, Bilbo held most dwarves and men in high esteem. They had kin, they had friends and family. Taking a life…he hadn’t been able to do it. It had left him ill and remembering too clearly when he’d accidentally knocked Gollum off and into the flames. So he’d injured instead, helping where he could, and leaving the final blow to the others who were better acquainted with battle.

He hadn’t taken the life of a dwarf or a man yet, and he didn’t intend to start now.

Thorin obviously knew this: Bilbo’s blade had been too clean. And it was obviously rankling his husband, if his attempt to send Bilbo away – _again_ – was any indication.

The mountains beside them were still beautiful, though. Bilbo sighed and tried to find the peace he’d felt back in Bag-End with Thorin. Just his husband, sprawled out next to him on his bed, long hair hanging about in such a way that Bilbo had been tempted to run his fingers through it. He felt so removed from it now, as if Thorin were a hundred miles away instead of right behind him on the horse.

He would feel so much better when the thieves were _gone_. They could take Moria back, perhaps; Kili and Dwalin had both made mention of seizing the opportunity of cleaning out the mountain as they had done to Erebor. Well, if that was the case, they were going to need a burglar, but frankly, Bilbo would’ve been content to let the thieves have Moria if he could have peace. He just wanted _peace_.

Gandalf began to speak, pulling Bilbo from his tumultuous thoughts. “We are about a day from Moria now,” he said. “We have the option of going over the mountain and back to Erebor to ready troops, or we can take the lower gate into Moria. The decision must be made now.”

Bilbo frowned. If anything, Gandalf looked…almost apprehensive. They were merely thieves, and though the woman was a mysterious unknown, she couldn’t be that powerful yet to warrant Gandalf being as wary as he was. Before Bilbo could ask, however, Thorin spoke. “The lower gate into Moria is our best option. We cannot afford to lose any more time. If we are to strike, we must move now.” He paused. “Others could, perhaps, go back to Erebor for troops.”

Bilbo had to admit, the attempt had been a good one. Still, no one was biting. “Looks as if we’ll all be going, then,” Bilbo said, and tried to give Thorin a smile. Thorin, for his part, attempted to offer one in return, but it faltered and fell into grim silence.

Once Moria was done, perhaps they could discuss just _why_ Thorin was so insistent about Bilbo being sent away to stay behind. This was far more than simply protective measures.

They made camp alongside the mountain, the branches of the trees shading them from any unwanted eyes. Bofur had a fire going, under Gandalf’s watchful eye, and soon the talk turned almost merry. It reminded Bilbo of the journey to Erebor so much, and he couldn’t help but smile. Even Fili and Dernwyn were not as icy with one another, the good spirits of the others thawing them to where they could almost speak to each other without snapping.

Kili remained near the fire, separated from Legolas, and it made Bilbo frown. The elf was off to the side, tending to the horses, eyes distant. He looked as if he had been gravely injured and was desperately trying to cope, but Bilbo found no wound on him, could not find a place he was cradling or treating more gingerly. Kili watched him until it was clear Legolas was settling in with the horses, then reluctantly turned back to speak with Ori and Nori. As if sensing Kili was no longer watching, Legolas turned and watched him, and there was such a pain in his eyes that Bilbo could not understand.

What had happened while they’d been parted?

Only one way to find out. Bilbo made his way over to where Fili sat, removed from Dernwyn by Bofur and Balin both. “Feeling better?” he asked, nodding towards Fili’s leg.

“I can walk on it, and I can certainly ride on it,” Fili told him. “It’s not that bad.”

“Good. Is, ah, is anyone else injured? Like Legolas?”

Fili frowned but shook his head, instantly crushing Bilbo’s hopes that it was, indeed, something so simple as that. “No, he’s fine, as far as I know.”

“Nothing that happened while you were trailing the thieves?”

“No. We followed them for days and days, but nothing really happened until you all showed up. Which, by the way, I’m very grateful for.”

“A Baggins is never late,” Bilbo said, and Fili’s lips dared to turn up into a grin.

“Neither are wizards, from what I understand. You always arrive precisely when you mean to.”

Yes, Gandalf had a penchant for doing that. The wizard still looked pensive, but he was speaking with Aragorn and Thorin, and none of them looked particularly happy. Planning on what exactly to do when they reached Moria, no doubt. Bilbo shook himself and turned back to his nephew. “Something like that. You’re sure nothing happened.”

“Nothing. Honestly, it was boring, for the most part. Legolas and Kili kept smiling at each other, which gets old very quickly, let me tell you, and Nori kept trying to pickpocket me for practice.”

So whatever had happened between Legolas and Kili had also happened at the Fords of Isen. Bilbo was starting to believe that their meeting had been cursed, for no one seemed terribly happy at the moment, and hadn’t been since Isengard. Fili was still glancing sideways at Dernwyn, his thrum of anxiousness and frustration almost physically felt. Dernwyn looked to be in much the same way. Kili stole glances of worry at his husband when Legolas wasn’t looking, and Legolas in turn would gaze almost painfully at Kili.

Then there was Thorin.

There was only one way to start fixing what was going on, and Bilbo decided right then and there to not wait until after Moria to talk to Thorin. He could just as easily catch him now as he could then, and at least he’d have answers. He excused himself from Fili when Aragorn, Thorin, and Gandalf broke away, and Bilbo quickly pulled himself up in front of his husband. Thorin’s eyes were dark and clouded, and all Bilbo wished to do was run fingers through his hair and make things right.

Instead, he gave a small smile and watched some of the clouds recede from Thorin’s gaze. “Did Gandalf have anything except for riddles to tell you?” he asked.

Thorin’s lips turned up, and Bilbo managed to keep his grin of victory to himself. “For once, yes. He seems highly concerned about Moria and our entering it, but has agreed that we should march on it. We’ll bed early tonight and hopefully reach the gates before night falls.”

A thought came to mind, and Bilbo nearly cursed himself. Moria held bad enough memories for the dwarves, but Thorin had lost not only his grandfather and king, but his brother, Frerin. No wonder he was so touchy lately. “This isn’t where you fought, is it?” he asked quietly. “This gate we’re going to?”

Thorin blinked. “No, it isn’t. This is…elsewhere from what you think.” His gaze dropped, and Bilbo reached up to catch his hand. There was such a thing as being annoyed at overprotectiveness, and then there was such a thing as allowing certain things for a fear.

“This time in Moria will be better,” he assured. Thorin met his gaze, and Bilbo smiled. “I promise. We’re all capable fighters, we can all handle ourselves. Even little Esse: you should’ve seen her in the Shire, waving a shovel around.” She’d been something fearsome to behold, wading in with a cry and bopping every orc she’d seen about the head.

Except his soft words and jest didn’t alleviate any of Thorin’s tension: if anything, it only made it worse. “I would be more assured of that if I knew you were safe,” he said, and Bilbo tightened his grip in warning. _I will not leave you, Thorin Oakenshield._ “My luck in Moria is poor enough; knowing you were safe-“

“I’m not going back,” Bilbo snapped, suddenly very angry. His nightmare rose to the forefront of his mind, and it was all he could see, for a moment: Thorin dead before him, Fili and Kili lifeless beside him. It only added heat to his frustration. “I’m staying, and that’s final.”

Thorin narrowed his gaze. “We have saved the Shire; Moria is simply a scouting, and nothing more. You would be more help to Erebor-“

“Moria is not ‘simply a scouting’ and you know it!” Bilbo swallowed hard and realized that most everyone was watching them now. Tact was the better option here. Tact was very much the better option here. He tried again. “We’ve ventured into more dangerous situations before just fine, and I’ve been a great help to you before.”

“You have always been more helpful than you know,” Thorin said, and the compliment would’ve been better if he hadn’t looked so furious. “But you would continue to be helpful in Erebor as well.”

“I’m going with you,” Bilbo said, dropping any sort of sideways tactic because Thorin wasn’t listening. Thorin was simply being Thorin and getting so angry over nonsense and Bilbo was _through_ with it. “I’m not leaving you!”

“I’m asking you _one simple thing_ , that is all!” Thorin yelled. “You are not foolish, you _know_ there is danger, and I am asking you as your husband _and_ as your king to take your kin and return to the mountain!”

“If you think I’m going to be so easily dissuaded, you’ve got another thing-“

“I _made a vow_ ,” Thorin shouted, just shy of a roar, and Bilbo stopped. “I made a vow to follow you, to always be by your side so I could keep you safe, and I will _not_ break that now.”

“You were content enough to leave me behind just a moment ago-“

“Because it is the only way I can be assured that you will be safe! If you come any further with me, I _cannot_!”

And that was what it all boiled down to: Thorin needing to know that Bilbo was safe. It made part of him relieved, there was no doubt about that. But it also set a part of him on fire, warming his cheeks in humiliation and rage that he was being _ordered_ like a child to go home because he couldn’t take care of himself. “Do you truly think I can’t handle myself?” Bilbo seethed. “You _know_ that I can.”

“The air gap-“

Oh for Eru’s sake, of _course_ it was about the damned air gap nonsense from two years ago. “That was a _one time_ issue that demanded an immediate response! I walked away with minimal wounds-“

“You shouldn’t have _been_ wounded-“

“ _Minimal wounds_ that could’ve been much worse but weren’t. What would’ve happened to Hildili if I hadn’t gone down after her? Would you have ever gotten her out? I was small enough, I fit in the little tunnel, I found her and kept her safe until you all arrived.”

With every word, Bilbo watched as Thorin’s face grew redder and redder. His fists were clenched so tight that they were nearly white, and he looked angrier than he had in many years. Bilbo pursed his lips. “You’re not leaving me behind,” he insisted, refusing to cave. “I _am_ going with you, I am _not_ turning back. I can handle myself, you just saw that I held my own in the last battle-“

“You didn’t kill a single one of them,” Thorin growled. “You injured but did not take a life.”

The very thought turned Bilbo’s stomach, and Thorin _knew_ that, he _knew_ the nightmares that still came, of Gollum being pushed over the edge by Bilbo’s own two hands, and yet he was actually using that as his excuse, now? It was like salt being poured into a wound and ground deeply, and Bilbo forced his hurt to fuel his anger. “There were others enough to do the killing, you _know_ how I feel-“

“That’s _exactly_ my point!” Thorin shouted. “Even if it meant your life, you would refuse to strike the final blow.”

“I could just-“

“My job is to protect you from all harm, and right now, that is achieved by sending you back to Erebor.”

“I will _not_ -“

“You would defy what you promised to me ten years ago?” Thorin yelled, and Bilbo stopped. Thorin grabbed his wedding braid and pointed to the bead, the bead that Bilbo had labored over in the forge. “You told me I was your protector, your defender, that you trusted me to look out for you. Yet now you deny me and tell me it means nothing?”

It would have hurt worse if Thorin had simply struck him. Around them, the camp had gone silent. Thorin seemed frozen now, eyes wide in shock at his own words. The dwarf looked like a statue, unable to move, his unspoken remorse in his eyes. Bilbo felt his hand reach for his own wedding bead, his comfort, his one solid truth he could cling to time and time again. He stopped his hand before it reached the bead and clenched his hand into an empty fist instead. His hand was lowered to his side in a single swipe, the action sharp and precise.

No. There was no comfort to be had in his marriage, not now. Not if Thorin truly believed he thought so little of his vows. How had their argument turned into this?

He couldn’t meet Thorin’s gaze. He marched himself over instead to his pack, sitting beside Thorin’s. He moved it swiftly to the other side of camp, next to Esmeralda’s. Where it had once been done for Esmeralda’s sake and agreed upon by both Thorin and Bilbo, now it was a means of escaping having to sleep beside his husband. No one moved as he pulled his roll out and flattened it to the ground in stilted movements. Only then did he lay himself down, his blanket tucked up near to his ears. He aimed his gaze at the tree line and refused to acknowledge the tears burning in his eyes.

If he had but glanced back, he would have seen his husband standing and staring, stunned, at the huddled mass that was Bilbo.

The fire eventually had to be stoked, and Ori tentatively stepped forward to do so. Others began to move around, still quiet, still hesitant to speak or do the wrong thing. Not after what they had witnessed. Bilbo kept his gaze straight ahead, determined to not listen for the heavy footfalls of his husband.

He also was determined to not wipe the tears away as they trailed down his face.

The night went on for far too long, and when he finally did find sleep, it was filled with horrible images of Bilbo pushing Gollum off the edge into the fires, only to realize it was Thorin he had sent down into the flames. Waking only made him wish for the warmth of his husband’s embrace. He supposed, perhaps, he would go to Thorin tomorrow. Just one night, this night, without him.

But the next day was spent in silence and in misery. They rode through and into the mountains, Bilbo riding with Fili and Dwalin riding with Thorin. The air was hot and wet, and it all would have been worth it if he’d been beside Thorin. If perhaps he could speak his own apologies, hear apologies from Thorin. If perhaps he hadn’t felt so alone and condemned, if he hadn’t felt so afraid of actually speaking to Thorin, lest it start another fight.

Neither spoke. And the day went on.

  
  


“I can’t stand it anymore.”

Legolas nodded. Kili pursed his lips. “Fili and Dernwyn are barely speaking to each other, but at least they _are_ speaking to each other. Bilbo and Thorin aren’t speaking at all! They won’t even _look_ at each other!”

He received another nod, but no other response. Frowning, Kili looked at his husband. “Are you all right?” he asked. Legolas nodded but again said nothing.

Kili was completely done with his kin and friends and everyone. Mahal, he wanted to be home. They should be celebrating right now, not out here in the woods leading to the mountain, bitter and silent. They had rescued the Shire, they were going to clean out the thieves and maybe even take back their old ancestral home. They should have been rejoicing, not…not fighting or talking stiltedly with one another, afraid to say the wrong thing.

There was something so _wrong_ with Bilbo and Thorin being at odds with one another. Thorin hadn’t meant to say what he had, and everyone knew it, but the look of pure _betrayal_ that had spanned Bilbo’s face had left it obvious it was too late to take it back. The aborted reach for his bead had put a terrible look on Thorin’s face, too, and when Bilbo had moved his sleep roll away from Thorin’s, the hurt on both of their faces had about done Kili in.

Fili and Dernwyn being angry with each other was, at least, almost familiar. They’d snapped and glared at each other when they’d first met, too. He could pretend to take comfort in that.

But now Legolas was slowly pulling away from him, and without his comfort, Kili felt lost and adrift. What was _wrong_ with everyone?

He cleared his throat and leaned back into Legolas a little more. His husband didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he at least didn’t shy away. That was an improvement, he supposed. “Have you ever been to Moria?”

“No,” Legolas said softly. “I have only heard tales of its fall and woe.”

Well, at least he was speaking to Kili. Another improvement. Emboldened, Kili glanced back at him and smiled. “I’m not worried,” he said. “We took them at the river, and we can take them here in Moria.” He found Legolas’s hand on the reins and grasped it with his own. “You and me,” he said. “We could take them on. That is, if Gimli left any to us.”

Legolas offered a smile that almost looked fragile. There was something wrong, something deeply wrong, and Kili didn’t have the first idea of how to fix it. “You’d, um, tell me, right?” Kili asked, his voice almost a whisper. “If there was something wrong?”

“I would,” Legolas said, but he still looked so lost. Whatever it was, Legolas could obviously not put it to words. So Kili kept his hand in his and leaned back against Legolas, to offer what comfort he could. _I’m here, Legolas. And I’m not leaving you._

Legolas took a deep breath, then another, then finally settled back, tension running through his body. When Legolas moved the horse’s reins, Kili’s hand slid off, without any mutual grasp to keep him there. He moved his hands to his lap, hating the mountains, hating Moria, with every single step. Not a single one of them was happy, and he wondered if it was leaving Legolas troubled. If he could feel the distance and anger and hurt that whispered through the group. Perhaps Legolas could feel it and couldn’t escape it.

He pressed himself more firmly against Legolas, a solid and sure weight. “I love you,” he murmured.

There was a pause, and finally, _finally_ , Legolas bent down to press a long kiss to the top of his head. “And I, you,” he breathed.

That, Kili hadn’t doubted, just as he knew that Fili loved Dernwyn and Thorin loved Bilbo. That didn’t mean they couldn’t hurt one another with words, or that they couldn’t dislike one another for a time. It was just frustrating to see it and to be unable to say a thing.

At least he had Legolas.

“The mines are close,” Gandalf called back through the group, arresting Kili’s attention. “I would advise we let the horses go here, to return home. They cannot embark on this next part of our journey with us.”

“Will they find their way home?” Esmeralda asked from in front of them, and Kili smiled, finally glad to have _someone_ willing to have a normal conversation.

“They will, actually; they know their way to Erebor. We could fall asleep on our horses and be home before anyone knew it, thanks to them.”

Gandalf coughed. “As someone who’s slept on a horse as it rode onward, I can safely assure you that it is _not_ the way in which one wishes to travel.” Aragorn ducked his face to hide a grin, and Kili took a breath, then another. Smiles and jokes all around: things were looking better every minute.

“’Course not,” Gimli said, as if eager to join the conversation that would lend sound. Anything was better than the wretched silence that had befallen them. “Miss all the orcs that way! No, awake’s better for findin’ orcs.”

“In Rohan, we learn from a very young age to come alert and wield our blade at the slightest sound,” Dernwyn said as she rested her hand on the hilt of her sword, and she very pointedly didn’t look to Fili. Fili refused to look at her as well. Kili felt his heart sink again as that miserable silence threatened to loom once more. He hated this so much, and yet there was nothing he could do about it. It seemed every topic would be off limits.

Aragorn, however, was peering at Dernwyn closely. “Is your blade new?” he asked. “For I have never seen it before. How did you come by it?”

Dernwyn frowned. “It’s the blade I have always had. It was my father’s blade, and his father’s before him.” She glanced down at the hilt, as now many others were also doing, then back up at Aragorn. “Why?” she asked. “Is there something the matter with it?”

“No,” Aragorn assured her. “There is nothing wrong with the blade. Its hilt simply reminds me of another sword I once saw. I had wondered if it was the same one, but yours is a family heirloom. It has obviously defended you well so far; I hope it will continue to protect you and your loved ones.”

It was clear that Aragorn was a king, not just in deed but in word as well. He handled words the same way Bilbo did: clearly and with intent to neither dissuade nor dismay. He was good at it, and Kili was grateful when Dernwyn settled back with a small nod, and Fili even did the same from his horse.

“How far into the mountains?” Éomund asked, finally daring to speak. Kili would’ve laughed at the reluctant look on his face if the oppressive force of the silence hadn’t been returning.

“Not far,” Gandalf said, and he stopped and swung off his horse. Everyone else dismounted and pulled their packs from their steeds. Ori stood by Nori and Dwalin, looking anxiously at the others. Less anxious, Kili amended in his own head, more frustrated. He looked as if he wanted to say something, then glanced at Thorin and Fili and obviously thought the better of it. Kili didn’t blame him.

It was Dernwyn and Tauriel who seemed to have the most trouble letting their horses go, but eventually all the horses were nudged back down the path. All of them followed after one another, and Kili watched until the first horse turned to the east. They would get home safely enough, of that he was sure of. And it was better than them trudging up the sharp incline that the company now faced. It didn’t look particularly inviting, and with his stomach still tender from the last battle – though thankfully not sliced open, he would take tender over sliced – it didn’t look appealing.

He began to climb up after the others, envying Tauriel’s gentle grace that let her quickly move to the top. Kili glanced around for his husband and found him surprisingly right beside Kili. He stumbled a little on the rocks, and Legolas quickly caught his elbow to pull him to standing. Kili shot him a grateful smile, wishing he could so easily speak the way Bilbo and Aragorn could. _I wish I knew what to say to you, to remove that frown from your face. I wish you’d smile again. I wish I knew what the matter was. I wish…_

Bilbo had a saying about wishes, something his mother had told him. Kili didn’t quite remember it, but he knew it had something to do with how useless they were. He could attest to that.

As soon as they were on solid ground, Legolas was moving forward, leaving him behind with Fili. That wasn’t much of a comfort either, and Kili wished he felt more at ease to so readily follow after Legolas. It didn’t feel right to do that now, though, and for Mahal’s beard, he didn’t even know _why_.

He silently sighed and kept trudging along into the mountains.


	17. Riddles and questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gates of Moria are reached. Yet words need to be spoken before they can venture any further.
> 
> That is, if they are able to even get into Moria...

Long had Balin desired to look upon the halls of his ancestry, the great kingdom of Khazad-dûm. But it had always been a fantasy hidden in the scrolls and the histories of his people. He had imagined, perhaps, a dwarf coming to them with a message of victory, that the orcs had abandoned the mines, and that it had been reclaimed. Walking into the great halls and finding them needing but a few willing hands to put it all back together. He had envisioned the mines, the great and vast hallways, and the very gates themselves being bright and glorious.

A lot of that had changed, when Thorin had first taken up his oaken shield to save them from absolute ruin. And still more of it was changed now, as they walked up to a dark, vast wall hidden almost as a crevice in the mountains. A wide pool spanned in front of a small beach of black and grey pebbles, and only a few trees grew alongside the mountain.

This was not the Moria Balin had expected to find. He wasn’t entirely certain there _was_ a Moria here. And if there was, he wasn’t entirely certain where it was.

But Gandalf seemed less apprehensive than he had been since they had agreed to go to Moria, and was even now moving to examine the thick rock wall. A hidden door, perhaps, and Balin smiled. Yes, one of the many hidden doors of Moria, and of course the wizard would know where they were. He felt like a young dwarf again, pouring over documents, reading everything he could about their once great and mighty kingdom.

He turned to his once young pupil, now fully grown and capable scribe, and frowned. Ori looked so disgruntled that Balin was almost afraid to ask what the matter was. He’d seen Dwalin wear less ferocious scowls. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

Ori crossed his arms in front of him. “All of them,” he said, and he motioned with his head towards the others that were following after Gandalf. “Well, most of them. But still! Look at them!”

Balin pursed his lips. It was hard to do as much, to watch them as they floundered. Fili and Dernwyn _still_ weren’t entirely speaking to each other, but they offered a few words here and there. Mostly to keep themselves safe, he had thought at first, and now he realized it was just the opposite. Neither wanted to be the one to lash out at the other, and thus were keeping their words to themselves. He only wished it would bring them peace instead of the anxious standstill they now found themselves in.

Kili and Legolas were a disturbing matter all their own, for though they had not spoken of issues between them, it was painfully obvious that _something_ was wrong. The usually soft and gentle elf was morose and trying hard to hide it. Kili was watching him anxiously and trying to hide _that_ , and Balin remembered dryly that neither had ever been good at keeping secrets or being subtle. Now was certainly not any different.

But the most heartbreaking was, perhaps, his cousin and king, who looked to be torn between angry and deeply grieved, and his husband, Balin’s good friend, who wore the same face and held himself in the same tight and unhappy way. It’d been hard to listen to Thorin rant and sink himself further and further last night, but Balin didn’t think he would’ve been able to do a thing about it, anyway, had he been able to jump in. And before they’d known it, Thorin had said things he hadn’t meant to and left the both of them aching.

He could only hope that they’d all resolve themselves of whatever nonsense had seemed to leak into their minds and hearts, and swiftly. Because if they didn’t, Balin had no doubts that Ori’s anxiousness was going to bleed out into angry vocabulary.

Still, best to try and curb that where he could. He knew the tongues of the brothers Ri, and while Ori had a swift mind and a caring heart, his words might not get held back in time. “Best to leave them as they are, lad,” he said gently. “Only so much you and I can do. They need to sort this out on their own. You and Dwalin muddled through the nervous beginnings of a relationship on your own just fine.”

“But this isn’t the beginning!” Ori protested. “This is, this is years and years! How can it matter so little now?”

“It’s a new beginning of a sort,” Balin told him. He glanced over and found the others gathered behind Gandalf by a tall section of unblemished stone. That would be the door, he was certain of it. “Dernwyn and Fili have never had little ones to worry over before; that makes the situation unique. Thorin and Bilbo have never truly seen battle together, so that adds a new tension.” He had absolutely nothing for Kili and Legolas, however, and found himself stumped. Ori huffed in silent agreement, also unable to find the words.

“Come on, lad,” Balin finally said. “We’ve a hidden door to find.” There had been several, into Moria, at one time. Or so the histories had said. He wondered which one this was.

Even as they approached, he heard Gandalf telling Esmeralda, “They’re often hidden so well that not even their masters can find them!” The wizard turned to the darkened sky, where clouds hung in front of the moon. “A bit of light would help,” he murmured, and gave a gentle wave of his hand.

Slowly the clouds parted, as if blown away like smoke rings, and the moon shone down upon them. Balin found everyone else staring with wide eyes at the spectacle. Even Aragorn seemed startled.

“Show-off,” Dwalin muttered, and Balin grinned at his brother’s attempt to not sound impressed. Even as he turned to lend his own words, his eyes caught sight of the rock wall, and all sense of speaking fled him.

It was as if someone had lit gold aflame and let it cascade down the mountainside. The lines of a carved archway began to emerge, revealing not just a doorway, but a noble work of art. Stars sparkled in the rock, and ancient words came from the stone. It was a dazzling, brilliant sight to behold, and Thorin murmured words of reverence and awe. And he was right to: these were the Doors of Durin, the West Gate of Moria. They couldn’t be anything less.

It was more than Balin had ever thought he would see in his lifetime. He smiled and felt as if he were a student once more, reveling in the magnificence of Khazad-dûm. He was so caught up in the moment that he failed to notice that Gandalf had turned to him. He blinked in surprise. That was the look his mentor had often given him when he knew Balin didn’t have the answer. It was the look Balin had given Ori a few times, and Kili and Fili both many times.

He wasn’t entirely appreciative of it being directed at him by Gandalf. And even before the wizard spoke, Balin knew exactly what he’d ask.

“In your studies, Balin, have you ever-“

“I don’t know how to open the door,” Balin said firmly. “I’ve studied Moria a great deal, but I haven’t the slightest idea how to open it.”

Gandalf looked as put out as Balin had ever seen him. “What do the words say, above the door?” Éomund asked.

“‘Speak, friend, and enter,’” the wizard finally said. “In the Elven tongue. But I do not know the password.”

“Neither do I,” Balin said. He glanced around at the others. “Ori, do you?”

Ori shook his head shortly, glancing at the others. “Fili, Kili?” Balin tried. “Aragorn?”

“I have no knowledge here to lend,” Aragorn said. “Perhaps Thorin would be able to help. Or Bilbo: I had heard rumors of a hobbit who escaped from goblin caves and dragon’s lairs with only his words.”

It was a good attempt to shuffle the two together, Balin had to applaud him there. Thorin looked at Bilbo, as if hoping to see any sort of motion or words from his husband. Bilbo kept his gaze to the door and seemed to be forcing himself from glancing back at Thorin. Thorin finally cleared his throat, and Bilbo bit his lip. When Thorin went to speak, however, he stopped before he even began. He clenched his fists and turned away, frustration evident on his face.

Bilbo finally shook his head at the door. “No, I…I don’t think I can figure it out,” he said, voice rough after a full day of barely saying anything. He turned and walked away, refusing to look in Thorin’s direction.

And apparently, that was all the youngest Ri brother needed to hear before he’d had enough.

“That’s _it_ ,” Ori snapped, and everyone froze in place. He looked furious, glaring at them all. “What is _wrong_ with you all? Of all the times we need to stand together, it’s now, more than ever before. And you’re all fighting with each other!”

He turned to Fili and Dernwyn first. “Dernwyn, you shouldn’t have come, and you know it. But Fili, she came because of _you_. Not for adventure or excitement, she can get enough of that with Holdred and Hildili. She came because she was worried for you, which, ironically enough, is the exact reason Fili’s telling you to go home, Dernwyn.”

Dernwyn and Fili had barely turned to each other, guilt and sorrow on their faces, when Ori whipped over to Bilbo and Thorin. “You two…Bilbo, he’s trying to protect you because he’s terrified he’ll lose you. I watched him when you were missing or when you’d fallen down the air gap, and he’s nearly lost you more times than he can count. Trust me, him letting you go back to Erebor and out of his sight is a sign of how scared he is.” He swung his glare to Thorin. “And why do you think he’s fighting with you so hard to stay? Because he’s just as equally scared that something will happen to _you_! You were the only reason he made it to Mordor, and you know it, you _know_ you mean that much to him. He trusts you and _loves you_. Leaving you means being unable to help you or protect you; you can’t ask him to do the same thing you refuse to do. You’re both stronger together, and _how_ have you not learned that yet?”

He shook his head and didn’t even bother waiting for Thorin and Bilbo’s response, instead glancing at Kili and Legolas. “And I don’t even know what’s wrong with you two, but it’s just wrong. Whatever it is, _talk_. I’m _sick_ of watching you all flounder when you’re essentially fighting for the _exact same thing_. You want to keep each other safe. That means you have to trust each other to protect themselves and each other. Stop letting the fear of what happened or what could happen muck it all up!”

He was panting heavily by the time he was done, and he gave a sharp nod, crossing his arms. “Well done, my lad,” Gandalf murmured approvingly. Dwalin looked the proudest Balin had ever seen him look before. Balin held back from rolling his eyes and found himself watching the three couples Ori had just…well, scolded, for lack of a better phrase.

Dernwyn and Fili slowly stepped towards each other, hands meeting to twine around the other’s. The fear-fuelled anger was gone, and in its place was the worry that had started it all. Kili was much like his brother, stepping towards Legolas with a hopeful look on his face. Legolas tried to offer him a smile, but it fell away almost immediately. His gaze dropped to his feet, leaving Kili looking bereft and unsure once more. Balin pursed his lips but said nothing, and finally turned his gaze to his friend and king.

Bilbo was still hunched over, shoulders up to his ears, arms wrapped around himself, back to Thorin. Thorin carefully moved across the rocks to his husband, unaware that all eyes had turned to them. “Bilbo,” Thorin said softly, regretfully. Bilbo did not move, and Balin peered at the hobbit with a frown. It was only when he caught the sheen in Bilbo’s eyes that Balin understood his silence.

Thorin stepped in closer, his hand hovering as if aching to touch Bilbo. “Beloved,” Thorin murmured, pleading, and Bilbo shook his head.

“Don’t do that. Don’t…don’t do that when you don’t even trust in what I vowed-“

“I _do_ trust in what was promised,” but Thorin had hardly begun when Bilbo whirled around, anger on his face but tears in his eyes.

“Then what don’t you trust in? Me? My ability to keep myself and you safe?”

“I trust in everything except the world around us,” Thorin snapped, but Balin frowned as he watched his cousin. There was something raw there, something he had never seen before, and he didn’t understand its reason, nor what had caused it. “You don’t understand what-“

“Of course I don’t, you won’t _tell_ me!” Bilbo said. “You just keep trying to send me away, and what other conclusions am I to draw from that?”

“I cannot lose you!” Thorin shouted suddenly and desperately, eyes wide and wet. “I _cannot_!”

Bilbo’s face had gone slack in surprise at the naked pain on his husband’s face. “Thorin…”

Thorin crossed the two steps between them and cradled Bilbo’s face between his hands. “You don’t…you don’t understand,” Thorin choked out, and Balin swallowed hard. This was Thorin more vulnerable than Balin had ever seen him before, as if he’d been shredded and skinned and left open and bare to the world. Never before had Balin seen him so undone. “I have nearly lost you so many times, , by orcs, by simple twists of fate, by…by my own hand. It feels as if the earth will not be content until you are taken from me, and I cannot…” He let out a shuddering breath. “You are my _everything_. I could not…I could not breathe if you weren’t here.”

Everyone was silent. Fili had Dernwyn’s arm wrapped within his own, holding tight to her as if he thought she would be blown away by the breeze. Even Legolas was no longer turned away from Kili, but instead immediately behind him, looking as if he ached to touch but didn’t dare to do so. Aragorn had his hands clenched and his head hung low, eyes fixed on the simple wedding band upon his finger. Balin could only imagine the elf queen he knew waited for the king in Gondor.

He didn’t look to Dwalin and Ori. He couldn’t bring himself to see what emotions of love and fear were on his brother’s face.

Bilbo slowly reached up to touch Thorin’s wedding braid. When he spoke, it was in a low and soft tone that made Balin’s heart ache. “The nightmares I’ve been having…they’re of you, Fili, and Kili. I had them, ten years ago, on the way to Mordor. The three of you brought low by Sauron’s forces. Now, though, they’re…they’re painfully vivid. And they’re getting more detailed, as if they’re no longer a dream but a reality waiting to happen. I can’t…” He pursed his lips to try and stall his emotions. “Don’t send me away,” he all but pleaded. “You say you can’t bear to lose me, but I’ve been losing you nightly for days, weeks now. And I _know_ that I can’t live with it.”

It was Thorin’s turn to comfort, remorse and too much understanding flooding his face. It would’ve been comical if it hadn’t been so heart wrenching. Both of them had been fighting for the same thing, to keep the other safe by whatever means necessary.

“I’m not going back,” Bilbo said as firmly as he could, but his voice wavered. “So don’t bother.”

Thorin took a breath. “I know,” he said quietly. It was not accepted, not approved of, but the agreement was silently stated: Thorin would not try to send him away again.

Bilbo let out a soft, shuddered breath. “All right then,” he said after a moment. Then he was stepping up and pulling Thorin into his arms. Thorin shut his eyes, visibly relieved, and clutched at Bilbo. There was something settling about seeing them together once more, as upset as they’d been for the past few days, then completely apart since yesterday. They were better together, Balin thought. And it was good to see.

Bilbo finally raised his head and rested his forehead against Thorin’s. They seemed to speak to one another silently, communicating without words. Only when Thorin began to smile, tears in his own eyes, did Balin let himself completely relax. Apologies accepted, forgiveness given, it seemed.

“What is that?”

Startled from their silent conversation, Bilbo and Thorin turned with everyone else to Tauriel. Her eyes were on the lake, concerned. “What’s what?” Fili asked.

Bofur was moving forward now, too, holding a hand up when Esmeralda made to follow him. Nori walked slowly along the banks, and he hoisted his blade when Tauriel drew her arrow. “There’s something in the water,” he said lowly.

Then it was upon them.

The first tentacle caught Bilbo and Thorin, sending them flying. Thorin somehow managed to catch Bilbo with his arm to protect him as they landed. More tentacles were rising from the depths, striking out at their company. Aragorn caught one with his blade when it tried to take Gimli, and Dwalin made quick work of one that had merely twisted in Ori’s direction. Balin hurried to Thorin and Bilbo, helping them to their feet. “We need that door opened,” Balin said urgently. If it wasn’t opened, they’d be dead within minutes.

Bilbo took off running. Thorin hefted Orcrist and made himself a wall between his husband and the beast. Hobbit and King settled, Balin hurried back to the water to aid where he could, helping Nori to his feet after having been caught by a stray tentacle. “Can’t you _do_ somethin’?” Bofur yelled at Gandalf, who was fighting off two tentacles at once with his own blade.

“Unless I can see it, no,” Gandalf said shortly. “And the less magic I use, the better for us all!”

Balin desperately cast a glance back at the door, but it was still not open, and Bilbo was gazing at it with fear. “Does no one know the answer?” Tauriel demanded. She fired two arrows into a tentacle and sent it falling back into the water. “Or are we doomed to riddle with it all night long?”

“We don’t _have_ all night!” Dwalin growled.

“That’s it!” Bilbo shouted, and when Balin looked back, he was pointing at the door. “It’s a riddle! The Elvish word for ‘friend’ is-”

“ _Mellon_!”

The shout came from not only Bilbo, but from Gandalf, Tauriel, and Legolas. The low rumbling of the doors was a welcome distraction from the beast in the water, and slowly they began to open. Balin took off for the doors, intent on pushing Thorin and Bilbo inside to safety.

Which, of course, was when the beast from the lake finally appeared.

Esmeralda shrieked at the sight of it, and Balin was hard pressed not to join her. It was a foul thing, a large skull as black as night, tentacles attached everywhere. Its eyes were coal black and gleaming, and it quickly caught Kili by the waist when he notched another arrow. Fili’s blade stopped his brother from going more than a few stumbled steps, and Dernwyn caught Kili by the arm to pull him away. “Go, _go_!” Gandalf shouted. Legolas and Tauriel continued to fire arrow after arrow to cover their retreat into Moria.

Out of the corner of his eye, Balin watched as Bilbo raced back for Esmeralda. He pushed her onward, hurrying with her. “Go, come on!” he yelled. Thorin caught Esmeralda with one arm, the other still holding tight to Orcrist, and all but tossed her behind him through the doors. He turned and grasped Bilbo to do the same.

Almost grasped, that was. Fingers brushed before a tentacle caught hold of Bilbo around the ankle and yanked, _hard_. Whatever the beast was, it was determined to take one of them with it. Bilbo cried out as it pulled him away from Thorin at a rapid speed straight towards the water. Thorin took off running, shouting, and Legolas darted back to fire one last arrow, straight at the beast’s eye.

It landed with perfect accuracy, and the beast let out a howl the likes of which Balin had never heard before. But it let go of Bilbo, and the hobbit tried to get his feet beneath him. Dwalin raced to join Thorin, helping Bilbo to his feet. He stumbled, limping on as best he could, pain tight across his paling face. From behind Balin, Tauriel and Kili were stepping back out into the fray to fire arrows covering the retreat. The beast snarled, tentacles whipping about furiously, but it didn’t reach for Thorin, Dwalin, or Bilbo, whom the dwarves were all but carrying at this point.

“Get inside!” Dernwyn shouted at the others when Thorin and Dwalin were safe, and slowly the elves and Kili began to back up. The beast continued to stare straight at them with its one good eye, ever watching, and it was enough to send a chill down Balin’s spine. But the threat of arrows were keeping it at bay, and finally it disappeared back under the water. Kili, Legolas, and Tauriel held their bows for a surprise attack, but none came.

A gasp from Bilbo called everyone’s attention to the hobbit. Dwalin helped Thorin settle him on the ground. “Is he all right?” Bofur called from where he stood, mattock in hand near the doors.

Gandalf quickly hurried over, whispering something to his staff to make it glow. It was a dim light, but enough to give meaning to shapes in the room. Bilbo panted harshly, squeezing his eyes shut. “Let me see, my friend,” Gandalf murmured.

“Ankle,” Bilbo gasped out, and Thorin shut his eyes tight. “My bad…my bad ankle.”

Balin closed his own eyes. Though he hadn’t gone with them for the entire duration of the journey to Mordor, he’d been there in the end, enough to see what had become of Bilbo during his own venture. The ankle had been the most damaged, so much so that even Lord Elrond himself had been worried about its continued use. For the past ten years, it had healed, only causing slight pain in the cold. Bilbo certainly had never complained, not once, and that was a worry all its own.

For if he was calling attention to it now, it had to be bad indeed.

It was a solemn gaze that Gandalf wore after examining the ankle. The ankle was red and almost jagged looking from the marks left behind by the tentacle. Bilbo had his lip between his teeth, but Balin could still hear the small keening sounds he was making as Gandalf carefully moved the limb back and forth. Thorin was nothing but tension settled beside his husband.

“We need to go,” Fili said, reluctant to voice the truth. At his words, Bilbo began pushing himself up, with Thorin and Dwalin both reaching to push him back down.

“Need to go,” Bilbo managed.

“Bilbo-“

“I can walk,” and Balin raised his eyebrow at the bald-faced lie. But Bilbo was getting to his feet, pausing when he finally put weight on it, and he looked as if he’d pass out for a long moment. Then he swallowed hard and continued to rise. He took his husband’s arm when it was offered, however, if just to steady himself. “I can walk,” Bilbo said again. He gritted his teeth and put his foot down on the ground.

The first two steps went well, and then he was crumbling, chest heaving, arms reaching for Thorin. Thorin managed to catch him before he hit the ground, and between him and Dwalin, they were able to lower Bilbo until he was seated. “We need to _go_ ,” Bilbo insisted, but he looked as thrilled with the idea as they did, and that was to say, not at all.

“Did you fight here, Uncle?” Kili asked quietly, suddenly. Thorin glanced at him, completely bewildered. “When you fought Azog in Moria. Did you fight here, in this place?”

“No,” Dwalin said, sounding equally as confused as Thorin looked. Balin frowned, wondering where the question had come from, until he glanced around the room. The dim light of Gandalf’s staff allowed what had once been hidden by darkness, and the sight was enough to turn anyone’s stomach.

Orcs. Worse than that, dead orcs. There were orc corpses everywhere, some of them already showing bones, some with creatures still eating their flesh. There was a small army here in this entrance to the mines, and it was one that no dwarf had slain. A rodent appeared through what appeared to be a stab wound in one of the orcs, flesh in its teeth. It glared at them with bright red eyes and dove back into the corpse it was obviously intent on eating.

“Sweet Eru,” Esmeralda whispered, moving to Tauriel’s side. Tauriel wrapped an arm around her even as Bofur came to offer her comfort. Éomund had the look of one who would be ill on his face, and he caught the hilt of his blade as if it were a comfort. Everyone looked an equal measure of disgusted and alarmed, and Balin moved to Thorin. These orcs had not been slaughtered by the hands of the dwarves from yesteryear. No, these were recent kills.

There were certainly thieves here, and they were willing to kill to defend what they saw as their territory. Given the state of their small company, there was no way they could keep themselves safe and take on an army of thieves all at the same time. No wonder the orcs who’d ambushed them on the way to Rivendell had been willing to strike out at them.

“This place is cursed, laddie,” he said sharply. “We need to leave.”

“We can hold the one-eyed monster,” Legolas said, face grim. “But Balin is right. If we do not leave now, I fear-“

The walls began to shake and suddenly the beast was there, tentacles reaching inside through the doors, pulling at anything it could just to get to them. Legolas began firing his arrows once more but shoved Kili away when the dwarf went to join him. “Behind me!” Legolas told him. “Go!”

The doors started to fall under the creature’s might. Dwalin caught Ori’s tunic and all but dragged his husband away from the entrance. Dernwyn and Fili were running as fast as they could away from the doors, even as large stones came down. “Move!” Thorin bellowed, and the ceiling suddenly began to fall. Balin threw himself away from the damage and covered his head as best he could. For a moment, there was nothing but the rumbling and harsh cracking as rocks landed around them.

The room went silent. Balin could no longer see anything, but he could still breathe. That was a luxury, at least. He coughed and sat up, hearing stones shifting in the black. “Is everyone well?” he called.

A sudden light began to glow: Gandalf’s staff, lending light once more. Now, now it was bright enough to illuminate the entire room, but Balin focused his attentions on his companions. Kili and Legolas were well, and Dwalin was the furthest from the door with Ori, Nori immediately moving towards them. Dernwyn and Fili were there, and Bofur was beside Tauriel and Esmeralda. Aragorn was lifting Éomund to his feet, and the lad looked a bit winded but otherwise all right. Gimli shook himself and sent dust and little stones flying from his beard. None of them looked harmed.

Thorin was all Balin could see, at first, his travel cloak covering him as he slowly pushed himself from the ground. But there, in his arms, was Bilbo, who was blinking blearily in the dust. The hobbit coughed and waved at the foul air. “No one’s hurt?” Balin asked again.

“We’re all right,” Dernwyn called, glancing at everyone. “I think we’re all here and well.”

It was more than he’d expected, to be honest. “Good,” Balin said. “Good.” Except it was anything but. One glance back at the doors showed that their entry and hopeful exit was now completely covered by stones. There was no getting out that way. Which meant they had to move forward.

Now they had to weave their way through Moria, a place Balin had never once been in. Add to that the decaying corpses of a fair number of orcs, and Balin wanted to be anywhere except where he was. His younger brother seemed to share the same opinion, and for a quick moment, Balin wished his brother was somewhere else. Anywhere else. If he could but send Dwalin and Ori from this place with his thoughts, he would.

A grunting noise caught Balin’s attention. Bilbo was trying to stand, again. “Bilbo, rest for a bit,” Thorin said, trying to glare at his husband but failing for his worry. “Please.”

“We don’t have time,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “And I can walk.”

“Course you can,” Dwalin drawled. “You did _great_ the first time.” Still, Balin’s brother was poised, ready to catch the hobbit if he faltered.

“I must agree with your husband,” Gandalf said, and that pulled a glare from Bilbo at last. “You need to rest your ankle, if you’re to walk on it. I believe you _could_ walk on it, but you need time for the swelling to ease.”

“I refuse to be the reason we’re…we’re slowed down,” Bilbo said. He grimaced as he stood on his own two feet, his one ankle wobbling as it attempted to bear the weight of both. “And Balin’s right, we need to get out of this place. I don’t like it, not one bit.”

Thorin managed to not roll his eyes, which Balin thought was quite the accomplishment. Within a short moment he had his arms under and behind his husband, and even as Bilbo flailed, Thorin hefted him up without any hesitation. “Thorin!”

“Now you need not fear about slowing us down,” Thorin said. “And I need not fear about _you_.”

It was those last words that finally caused Bilbo to relent. He crossed his arms about him, however, and looked highly put out about being carried. Thorin’s grip was gentle, one arm beneath his husband’s knees, the other wrapped behind his back. It was for the best, and Balin could see Gandalf giving Thorin an approving nod. Thorin gave a short one in return, then went back to ignoring Bilbo’s grumblings. An injury, especially one that grieved an old injury, was taxing on the body. Bilbo would tire easily, and he was light enough that Thorin would be able to carry him without any cautiousness.

Of course, Balin was fairly certain his cousin would have carried the hobbit had he been injured himself. Thorin was bound and determined to keep Bilbo safe, and it was a testament of how sorry both had been about the earlier fight that Bilbo had given in so easily. His mutterings, even now, were more about how stubborn Thorin was and how no one was willing to lend him aid in standing against his husband.

“Onward into the dark of Moria,” Gandalf murmured, and he moved to the front of the group as they cautiously crept up the stairs. His light was bright, bright enough to shine against the walls and illuminate their path with ease. If they had any luck, it wouldn’t attract attention.

As far as their luck went, however, Balin didn't exactly feel encouraged.


	18. Darkness descends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The venture into Moria is a deep, dark, and dangerous one. And one of them will pay the ultimate price for it.
> 
> Major Character Death this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH.
> 
> This is that chapter. This is where it hits. Y'all have been warned.
> 
> *hands out blankets and tissues*
> 
> And then there's other stuff that happens, too. Nice, long, angsty chapter.
> 
> Not sorry. ...Well, sort of.

Each step was made in silence without any true effort on his part. Legolas thought it a kindness, given that his mind was everywhere else.

Esmeralda was a worry, for she had had her innocence slowly stripped from her on this journey. Yet she seemed to be standing as bravely as one could, given the circumstances. With Tauriel and Bofur both beside her, she was well protected from the horrors around her. Her and her babe, and that was not a thought Legolas even wanted to entertain, now that they were in the long, dark passageways of Moria.

Fili, Dernwyn, Éomund, and Aragorn were all walking together, and Dernwyn had not left Fili’s side since the resolution of their argument outside of Moria. They were speaking in quiet, hushed tones that Legolas could hear despite the lack of sound in the caverns around him. The spaces nearly seemed to swallow any noise, which he could understand as being a boon when one worked with stone. The echoes of mining had to be dreadful, after a time. Carving the caverns to dampen sound made a great deal of sense.

He forced himself to focus on those ahead of him, the reason his thoughts continued to stray.

Behind Gandalf, Thorin continued onward, Bilbo in his arms. He had gone from a careful grasp to a firm one, all but cradling Bilbo now. For Bilbo had gone from being alert to half aware of what was going on, leaning into Thorin and holding on as best he could. The injury was costing him a great deal, the pain leaving him blinking blearily and lost. Legolas winced in sympathy when he saw the ankle again. It seemed a macabre memory of the events ten years ago, when Bilbo had been forced to walk with a cane for quite some time. He could only hope his friend would not have to endure it again.

And, right behind them, walking alone, was Kili.

“Speak to me.”

Legolas was not surprised to find Tauriel at his side. The others were moving forward, and no one was near enough to hear them, even if the cavern had not all but taken Tauriel’s question with it. “What’s wrong?” Tauriel asked again. “You keep from him when I know you would rather be at his side. You have kept yourself from speaking to him, as if you could not care, but you instantly pushed him behind you when the beast attacked. Do you not trust him to care for himself?”

It was so hard to describe, to put into words the feelings he had. “Legolas,” she murmured, and he sighed.

“I would have him preserve what little of life he has left. I will not see him fall.”

She frowned. “He has much life left-“

“And now you think as they do,” Legolas said, trying not to glare at her. “Not as an elf.”

The stare he received was too knowing, and he clenched his fists beside him. “Of all the times to confront mortality,” she finally said, shaking her head, “you have picked the _worst_ time to do it.” She moved ahead to rejoin Esmeralda, offering him no words of peace. There were none to offer, after all. Kili was mortal and Legolas…was not. He could feel the choice before him, however, had known the path made to him when he’d wed his dwarf. Yet it had not been until Esmeralda’s words that he had truly let himself think of it.

“ _We have short lives. A little longer, perhaps, than men, not as long as dwarves, and we’ll never see eternity pass as the elves do. But it’s what you do with the years you’re given that counts, doesn’t it?”_

He knew it had changed everything, that night. Fili had been forced to face the truth, that he would outlive his wife, and had become too protective of her. Thorin had done the same, and both of their attempts had been met with nearly disastrous results. Yet here Legolas stood, doing the same.

He _would_ outlive Kili. He would outlive them all. He would be forced to bury his light, his hope, and then go on forever with only a memory to keep him company. He could not, would not, love again. When Kili went, so too did his heart. It had left him so stunned, so _frightened_ , watching Kili fall and thinking him dead, that he had pulled away from Kili and the sure knowledge of a future heartbreak. For he had only felt the distant possibility of sorrow since marrying Kili. Never before had he been forced to confront it, or acknowledge Kili’s mortality so rapidly, so violently. Yet when he had been forced from Kili’s side, and had been forced to watch his husband fall…

He wondered if it would be better to leave him, now, to think of him as only a memory, but a living memory, then to go on past him with the sure truth that he was dead and gone. It was a choice only he could make, and to explain it to Kili felt like a betrayal. Even if Kili understood, Legolas would feel shame at the indecision he warred with.

Yet how was this any better? He was living as a shade, so far from Kili’s light, and every day his distance dimmed that light.

He watched Tauriel with Esmeralda and Bofur, unafraid to speak and be with them. Even confronted with Legolas’s hesitation over mortality, she still remained by their sides. Mind made up, at least for the moment, Legolas took three large strides forward that put him beside Kili. Kili had barely turned towards him when he slid his hand into the dwarf’s. After a stunned moment, Kili squeezed his hand tightly, and the relief on his face made Legolas’s chest too tight.

He had to speak with his husband. He would tell him then how he felt.

“If my memory and history’s right, we are near to the main Great Halls,” Balin said, his voice muffled by the room. “If there was ever going to be a place to call a den, it’d be there.”

Dwalin nodded. “Surprise attack’s a good way to go. They’ll never see it comin’.”

The sharp whistle of an arrow came too late to stop it. For a long moment, no one moved, too stunned.

Then, Balin began to fall.

Dwalin shouted and dove for his brother, catching him before he could reach the ground. “There,” Bilbo said from Thorin’s arms, pointing off to the side, and Legolas did not pause to ask where or what Bilbo had seen or how alert his friend was. He simply grabbed Kili and _ran_.

They darted through the darkness, Gandalf’s light all there was to lead them across the stone floor. Above them, arrows flew through the dark, and Legolas pulled an arrow of his own when he was certain he knew where one archer was. The responding cry was all he needed to know, and then they were running again.

A door, half on its hinges, stood out, somehow illuminated by a stray beam of light coming from above. Nori and Aragorn grabbed the door and swept it open, and everyone rushed in. A few stray spears and weapons helped barricade the door, and when they were done, Legolas turned back at last.

Balin was gasping for air, pained gasps that rattled in his lungs. The arrow stuck out through the front of his chest, the point red and dark. Dwalin laid his brother upon the ground, carefully arranging Balin’s white beard with nothing else to do. “You’ll be all right,” Dwalin said gruffly, and Legolas knew then that Dwalin could not bear to face the truth.

There was nothing to be done.

“Down, put me down,” Bilbo was insisting. “Thorin, _go_ ,” and Thorin settled his husband down against a large stone before hurrying over to Balin and Dwalin. There was a grief on his face, not just for himself but for Dwalin as well. It was a terrible sight to behold, and everything Legolas feared. Mortality. And for Balin, it was nearly at its end.

“Don’t look that way,” Balin gasped out, shaking his head at both Dwalin and Thorin. “Don’t. You’ll…be all right.”

“Balin,” Thorin murmured helplessly. He caught Balin’s hand in his own, clinging, as if his grip alone could keep Balin there. But the blood continued to pour, and Balin’s gaze was beginning to drift away. Legolas could only hope it was his father’s halls he saw, now.

Balin took in a short, ragged breath. “Get them out,” he whispered. He murmured something in Khuzdul to Dwalin that made the warrior choke on a sudden sob and the other dwarves bow their heads in grief.

Then his eyes sank shut, and Balin, son of Fundin, was gone.

Legolas closed his eyes. His blessing for the dead, though small and in Sindarin, was all he had to give to the dwarf he had called a friend. Aragorn mouthed the words with him, and Tauriel’s eyes were suspiciously bright across the room, where she had Esmeralda in her arms. The young hobbit’s face was turned away, shoulders hitching with silent sobs. Bilbo had his head buried in his hands, and Legolas caught the shine of tears upon his face.

Dwalin knelt there on the stone for a long time. When he finally moved, it was slow, careful movements, as if he were so much older than he was. He gently pressed his forehead to Balin’s, much as he had many times before, and now would never do again after this day.

How did the others deal with mortality? How, when it came to them every day, so swiftly and so suddenly? How, when it was promised to them no matter what they did with their lives?

Thorin rose to leave him be, for a time. His blue eyes were brimming with tears, but he fought to keep his countenance. “They will come,” he said roughly.

Already Legolas could hear a force moving towards the door. “The door will not hold for long,” Aragorn said. He nudged Éomund forward towards Dernwyn and Fili. “It is hardly a barricade.”

The room itself was small, an easy place to keep them trapped. It looked to have been a storage room, once. Shelves were cut into the stone, and broken pieces of wood were strewn about the floor. Pieces of the ceiling were now on the ground, large stones such as the one Bilbo was leaning against. One of the stones from above had left a gaping hole to the outside, allowing the moonlight to stream through. It was much too high to reach, but it allowed them visibility, at the least.

“Let them come,” Dwalin said hoarsely. When he lifted his head, his cheeks were tearstained, but his eyes were red with fury. “Let them come and stand against the last son of Fundin.”

“Let them stand against us all,” Gimli challenged, hefting his axe high. “I’ll wager they’ll not last long.”

Bilbo wiped his face and stood carefully, and before anyone could stop him, he put weight on his injured ankle. It held, and with more determination he strode over towards one of the walls. “There’s light, here,” he said. With each step he took he seemed to gain new strength, until he was walking almost normally across the room. He dug his fingers into a hole even Legolas could not see, and suddenly there was a red light streaming across Bilbo’s face. “If we can open this, we can get out.”

“There’s a door, made for walkin’ through,” Dwalin growled. Legolas pinched his lips but it was Thorin who spoke.

“We need to leave, Dwalin. In one piece.” He glanced down at Balin’s still form. “Help us with the stone wall.”

Dwalin kept his gaze on the door. “Dwalin-“

“I’ll not leave him,” he snapped at Thorin. “I _won’t_.”

“Here, what about this?”

All eyes turned to Bilbo. He’d moved from the hole to a broken shelf in the wall. The shelf above it had been cracked, leaving a large gap in the lower part of the wall. “There’s enough large stones to roll in front of it,” he said softly. “We could at least keep him safe until we can come back.”

It was obvious how much it pained Dwalin to do it. But at last, he gave a sharp nod. “Fili, Kili,” Thorin ordered, and as one they moved to the stone Thorin had pointed to.

It hurt to watch Dwalin lift his brother’s body with such reverence. Legolas felt a pain in his breast, wondering if perhaps he would one day lift Kili in much the same manner. He could not look as Dwalin carried his brother to the shelf in the wall and gently placed him there. The stone was rolled in front of the wall, and if Legolas had not known, he would have said nothing had been changed. The room looked completely untouched. Yes, Balin would be safe here.

“Time to leave,” Nori pointed out, and everyone quickly moved to the wall. Legolas caught sight of Bilbo resting a hand upon Dwalin’s arm in sympathy and comfort before the elf turned to the reddish light pouring in. The stones were easy to pick away, and between the many hands lending themselves to the task, the hole was soon large enough to climb out of. The drop to a stone floor was simple enough, but Legolas still jumped out first to ensure the ground would hold. When it did, he reached his arms up to assist the others in coming down.

Once Tauriel had jumped out, along with Gandalf, Legolas caught a glimpse of the cavern around them. This one seemed to be ablaze everywhere, an eternal fire that would not go out. It was all red: red rock, red light pouring in everywhere, exposing the multiple stone pathways and columns that rose high above them. The cavern smelled of death and something _horrible_. Something so wrong and terrible Legolas wondered if perhaps Sauron himself had not walked these passageways once. He could only hope that whatever it was, it was no longer there.

It was just as Éomund was being lowered that the sounds of the door splintering caught Legolas’s ears. “Swiftly,” Gandalf said, having heard the same thing. “Everyone, swiftly!”

Bilbo was helped down as carefully as they could. “I’m all right,” he tried to assure them, and he took several steps to prove it. They were slightly uneven, but they were still steps. For now, it would have to do.

“Go,” Thorin said, when Dwalin would not move from the room. “Dwalin, _go_.”

Dwalin shuddered, his eyes holding on something in the room. Legolas knew what it was he continued to gaze at. To not only lose a loved one, but to be forced to leave them behind? It was an unbearable thought.

Ori moved back towards the hole. “Dwalin,” he called softly. Dwalin finally moved to glance below, and Ori gave him a gentle smile. “I’m not leaving without you,” he said. “So you’d best come down or haul me back up with you.”

The doors continued to give. Dwalin jumped down and clear of Legolas and the others, then took Ori’s hand as if his husband was the last lifeline left to him. Thorin followed behind to join an anxiously waiting Bilbo. “Move,” Aragorn said, and they were off. They hurried down the first main path available to them before taking a long set of stairs down, down and further into the mines. The glistening mithril veins told a devastating story, despite their gleam. There had been a people here, once. And then they had been cut down. There was no one left to mine the mithril. No one but the dead and a den of rogues.

They followed another path beside the large, empty void below them, then finally came to a long stone pathway that spanned across the dark pit. “Where does that go?” Tauriel asked.

Balin would have had an answer, would have known exactly where it led. Gandalf answered in his stead. “Deeper into the mines. Where we, too, must go.”

It was all the answer Tauriel needed. She flew across the pathway, Esmeralda and Bofur by her side. Nori went with Aragorn and Éomund, and Fili would not go until Dernwyn had crossed. Shouts from behind them were angry but distant, so distant that even Legolas’s eyes could barely make out their forms. They would be discovered soon enough, however.

“Legolas!”

He had not realized the others were all across until Kili’s cry. Kili looked frantic, refusing to follow the others as they ran from the bridge, standing by the edge. Legolas crossed within moments, and yet Kili still looked anxious. “Kili-“

“I’m not leaving without you,” the dwarf said stubbornly, then caught Legolas’s hand. Together they ran along the dark pit to their left, the red stone wall to their right. The path went beneath archways and around curves, yet still Legolas strained to hear what he knew would soon come: the shouts of their attackers, the whistles of their arrows.

The path began to narrow until they were nearly all running in a single line. The ground beneath their feet sloped up, then turned, the rock wall disappearing beside them. Suddenly everyone stopped, and Legolas managed to pull Kili back in time to keep him from running into Ori. Only when he glanced beyond Gandalf did he realize why they had halted.

The path sloped down, down towards the darkness of the black abyss where even his eyes could not see. To their right was a small bridge, stretching over a vast emptiness, leading to a series of hallways. Without the wall, there was no defense from either side: they were standing in the open, in too vulnerable a place. “We must move,” he insisted.

Bilbo made up his mind first, having looked at both options and weighing them in moments. He crossed the narrow bridge without any trouble, one foot in front of the other. Thorin gave a brisk nod. “Everyone across, now,” he said.

Kili tugged Legolas’s hand forward. The sound of the approaching danger pulled him back. “Go,” Legolas encouraged, when Kili stilled. After a brief moment, Kili nodded and began to cross. Though not as small-footed as Bilbo, Kili seemed to have no difficulty crossing. Esmeralda stepped forward to go next.

The bridge gave. “Bilbo!” Thorin shouted, and Bilbo, having been warned, jumped at the last moment. Bofur frantically pulled Esmeralda away from the edge, and Legolas could only watch in horror as the pathway collapsed beneath Kili’s feet. Kili ran as far as he could, the stones disappearing beneath his boots, before he finally threw himself to safety. The path crumbled and fell away into inky blackness, and both Kili and Bilbo landed on solid ground on the other side. Only when they began to move, with Kili carefully helping Bilbo to his feet, did the realization of what had just happened dawn upon them.

Thorin frantically searched for another bridge, but even as Legolas glanced around, he knew there was no other. That was the only way across to the hallways. Even Gandalf gazed across the expanse, but his gaze held resignation. Aragorn held his sword forward, as if he could extend to the other side. Yet his face spoke of the truth that he knew.

Legolas took a step forward out of instinct to reach his husband’s side, but there was nowhere to go. He was trapped on the wrong side of the cavern, away from the one being he loved more than any other. Kili met his gaze, looking just as anxious as Legolas felt. It was as if someone had tightened metal bands around his chest, leaving him completely unable to breathe.

Thorin stared, helplessly, at the other side. Bilbo bit his lip, his gaze on no one but Thorin. The shouts were getting louder and Legolas knew they had to leave, knew they had to abandon Bilbo and Kili to whatever fate they would discover on the other side. He felt so sick he actually clutched at his stomach to steady himself.

“We have to go,” Tauriel said at last. Bilbo nodded jerkily but said nothing.

Thorin drew in a deep breath and stood at his tallest and most formidable. He looked regal and determined, his word his bond. “I will find you,” he swore. “I _will_.”

Bilbo slowly smiled. “You always do,” he called across the way. Kili seemed to speak, then did not, but his eyes stayed on Legolas. When the shouts came louder, it was Kili who moved first, tugging Bilbo away and down one of the hallways.

Legolas would have stared until they were gone, but their pursuers were nearly upon them, from the sound of it. “Swiftly we must move,” Gandalf said. “That is the only way we will find our loved ones once more.”

“And find ‘em we will,” Gimli said. “But we’ve to move now.”

Dwalin said not a word but took Thorin by the arm, pulling him down the sloping path. Tauriel was there not a moment later, urging Legolas forward, and then they were descending along a darker path. Somewhere above them, Kili and Bilbo were running for their lives.

And Legolas knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that were something to happen to Kili, he would not outlive him. He simply could not.

  
  


It was a long time before Bilbo called a halt, and he was half certain Kili was going to force him to if he didn't do so on his own. When his ankle couldn’t take any more, however, Bilbo finally stumbled against a column and took harsh gulps of air. “Uncle,” Kili began, but Bilbo waved him off.

“I’m fine, truly.” No, he wasn’t, and Kili knew it, but if there was one way he could try and help his nephew, perhaps lying wasn’t the worst thing he could do. The last thing Kili needed right now was the truth: that he still felt weak and tired, that all of his energy seemed intently focused on his ankle, which was still throbbing incessantly and sending sharp pains up his leg with every step he took. It was all he could do to put it back down on the ground, knowing the pain that would immediately follow.

All he wanted was to be back in Thorin’s arms. And they were separated _again_ and nothing was going to come of this.

Perhaps this time, it would be he who found Thorin, if just out of necessity. Because he wasn’t entirely certain he’d make it much further without his husband.

“Sit for a moment,” Kili urged. “We’ll be all right.”

“You don’t have the slightest idea if we’re all right,” Bilbo admonished, but he leaned more into the column and slid down to the ground, letting it take the weight off of his ankle. Oh sweet Eru it _hurt_ , and he was faintly worried that something had snapped when the creature had grabbed him. All he’d known was one moment, he’d been reaching for Thorin, and the next, he’d been wrenched from his husband’s grasp, had felt the dirt giving way to wet pebbles, and a fire had begun burning from his ankle upward. Somehow, he’d wound up back in Thorin’s arms, and then Gandalf had been there, and it’d been everything he could do to not pass out.

He sighed and rested his head against the cool stone behind him. As much as he’d protested the idea of being carried, it hadn’t been long before he’d dozed off, desperate to escape the pain. He’d awoken to a shout from Dwalin in time to see Balin fall.

He shut his eyes. _Balin._ It had been a stroke of luck to see the door leading to the small side room. If only it’d been a stroke of luck to see the archer in time.

He opened his eyes and found Kili looking behind them, back down the hallway. Now that they were alone, Bilbo found himself asking the question he’d long wanted the answer to. “Kili, what’s going on with you and Legolas?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Kili burst out, hands coming up to tangle in his hair. He was flustered and frustrated, but most of all, he looked afraid. “I don’t know what’s wrong, or what I’ve done. He’s not loved me any less, but he hasn’t truly been there, we haven’t really talked since Isengard. I just, I feel that there’s something going on or I’ve done something. And he won’t tell me.” He sighed and lowered his hands. “At least you and Uncle made up,” Kili said, as if trying to instill cheer.

Not entirely, to Bilbo’s satisfaction, or to Thorin’s. It’d been a quick, heartfelt moment, to be sure. Then the creature had come, and then there’d been pain, and then Balin and running and being separated again. He wanted to talk with Thorin. Still, they weren’t separated by vast miles again, only by walls and slopes. They were both in Moria. And as large as Moria was, they would find each other again.

“You and Legolas will have a chance to talk with one another,” Bilbo said softly. Kili nodded, but his eyes remained on the hallway they’d left behind. “But if we’re to have any chance of that, we need to keep going.”

Kili nodded again, then finally shook himself. “Right. So…which way?”

“I should be asking you that, but you’re a Durin: you’ve no sense of direction at all,” Bilbo teased. Kili very maturely stuck out his tongue, giving a little smile as he did so.

“Nah, that’s just Uncle. He’s a terrible sense of direction, always has. He seems to be able to find _you_ well enough, though.”

Bilbo could only hope that luck would continue. “Well, you can help this uncle up. Then we’ll figure out which way is the best. Perhaps one smells better than the other.”

“Fresh air,” Kili said with a nod. “Sounds like a solid plan to me.” He carefully pulled Bilbo to standing, and though his ankle burned, it soon faded to a dull throb. He could walk on it. He’d be fine.

He turned and stilled, the sudden tip of the sword nearly piercing his nose. Kili’s hands on him tightened, but the dwarf didn’t move, given he had a sword of his own aimed at his throat. “Fresh air _does_ sound good, don’t it?” one of the men before them said, earning nods from those around him. “Too bad for you both we’re goin’ down into the mines a bit more.” He gave a toothy grin, exposing black gums and missing pieces of teeth. Bilbo shuddered at the malice in the grin. “ _Way_ down. You’re both wanted guests, late for the feast.”

“Don’t,” Bilbo murmured when Kili tensed, ready to spring into action. “Just, don’t.” For a long moment, he was afraid Kili would ignore him and attack anyway, but finally he felt his nephew slump beside him.

He shut his eyes when the thieves reached for him. _Thorin, find us, find me._


	19. Secrets of Moria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answers are found amidst the darkness of Moria. Some are welcomed, while others fall into place like puzzle pieces.
> 
> And some are surprises best left in the dark.

The dark gave way to a fire-lit passage delving beneath what had to be the hallways above. These were the lower level mines, the ones that had been the lowest before the dwarves had been too greedy and continued digging down even further. They all knew the tale, but no one told stories like Balin did.

Dwalin stumbled, just a little, but it was enough for Thorin to hold up his fist. “We cannot keep running blindly,” he said. “We’ll rest and search for a better path back up to the main halls.”

“Let me,” Aragorn said quietly, and Thorin gave him the nod. Not that Dwalin was paying too much attention to what they were doing or saying. They could’ve been talking about the state of their tunics and he wouldn’t have known the difference. All he knew was that his brother was gone.

It was the little things that came to mind. Things like the way Balin’s hair had gone white after the last time they’d fought for Moria. After Azanulbizar, his hair had suddenly been as white as snow, despite his age, and it hadn’t changed. Or how he’d always seemed so tall beside Dwalin, despite him being several inches shorter than his younger brother. It’d been his bearing, his wisdom always highly sought after. Dwalin remembered the way Balin had led him through Erebor as a young dwarf, hand in hand, and when Dwalin had said he’d be beside his brother to the end of his days, Balin had just smiled-

“Dwalin?”

It was Ori. His husband knelt in front of him, as if he’d been calling for a time. Only when Ori reached out to brush his hand across Dwalin’s cheek did he realize there were tears there. He bowed his head and let Ori cup his face. “Dwalin,” Ori murmured, and Dwalin clenched his hand into a fist until it ached.

“He shouldn’t have died.” It should’ve been Dwalin. He should’ve heard the arrow, should’ve done _something_.

“I know,” Ori said softly. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

“Mahal’s beard it wasn’t-“

“Balin would be so furious with you right now,” Ori said firmly. “Blaming his brother for something that couldn’t be stopped. Even the elves couldn’t hear anything! Legolas and Tauriel heard nothing. Those caverns are meant to stop sound, you know. So if they couldn’t hear anything, how were you supposed to?”

He just was, that was all. But Ori’s words weren’t so much removing his pain as they were wrapping a soft blanket around his grief. He couldn’t abolish it, but he could offer comfort, and Dwalin reached for his husband so suddenly that Ori nearly stumbled off his knees. He pressed his forehead to Ori’s and breathed. In, out. Once, twice. Two mittened hands slid up to cradle his head, not pressing, just resting, and he suddenly clutched at Ori, desperate to hold him. His husband went easily, cradling him as if he were bigger than Dwalin. He felt like a dwarfling now, the loss rocking him to his very core. Balin was gone. Balin was _gone_.

He pressed his face into the curve of Ori’s neck, soaking the skin with his tears. “Don’t you go,” he choked out. His fingers dug into his husband’s tunic. “Don’t you leave me.”

Ori whispered promises that fate could overturn if it felt so inclined to do so, and Dwalin just clutched all the harder. He’d lost one part of his heart, here, in Moria; he wouldn’t lose the other part. Balin had lived many years, but had still been too young, still shouldn’t have died. But Ori? Ori was his constancy, his breath, his everything, and he wanted, no, _demanded_ more years with him. Fate could hang itself: he wasn’t allowing it to take his Ori.

Even as he clutched at Ori, even as Ori clung back and offered assurances, Dwalin felt fear settle in his heart, fear that he’d lose this, too.

 

It hurt, to watch them.

“Bilbo’s all right. He’s got Kili.”

“I wish that made me feel better.”

“He’s your _brother_ , Fili.”

“Which is why I can make that statement better than anyone else.”

Thorin glanced over at his nephew. Fili could speak in any fashion he wanted: he was plainly worried about his brother. Separation never did either of them favors. Dernwyn could see it, that much was obvious, which was why she was gently prodding him to continue in his teasing vein. Anything to keep them all from the despair that was sinking in.

His heart was beating a staccato rhythm in his chest, pounding so harshly against his ribcage that he raised a hand to rub and soothe the ache. Balin was gone, dead right in front of him. His long time friend, his cousin, his confidant. Dwalin was lost to grief, and looking at his other cousin _hurt_ in such a way that Thorin could not bear to do it. And Bilbo…

“We must find them,” Legolas said again. The elf had been frantic ever since they had left Bilbo and Kili to run. “We must just…simply take a path and follow it.”

Thorin eyed his elf-son. Thankfully, Nori seemed to have the same thoughts that Thorin did. Or perhaps, the same thoughts they all had. “I get them,” the dwarf said, jerking his pointed hair towards Fili and Dernwyn. “And I get Bilbo and Thorin’s tiff. What I still don’t get is what’s going on with you and Kili. And I don’t like not knowing things.”

Even as Thorin glared at the dwarf – their argument had not been a _tiff_ – Legolas shook his head. “It is no different than theirs,” he insisted. “I just need to find Kili. Much as Thorin must find Bilbo.”

“I’d believe you except for the fact that you and Kili still look miserable,” Fili said. “I know my brother better than that. There’s something not right between you two. What’s going on?”

“You can tell us,” Dernwyn said quietly. “Please. If not for your sake, then for his.”

Her soft spoken words were almost magical: one moment, Legolas paced before them, fretful and anxious, and the next, he stood still, shoulders slumping. He wore a look of such heartache that Thorin felt urged to reach for him. The comfort would not be welcomed or wanted, though. Not until Legolas had spoken.

He was not the Durin Legolas wanted to hold, either.

“It truly is no different,” Legolas said, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “Mortality. The length of a given life.” He tightened his grip on his bow. “And how we will be the ones left behind.”

The silence that followed was a stunned one, followed swiftly by heartache. For once, the eternity of an elf seemed a terrible punishment. Thorin knew he would lose Bilbo, one day, and if they were both allowed to see their old age, he would be the one to bury his hobbit. Fili would lose Dernwyn far too young, before he even reached his two hundredth birthday, yet all of them would have a comfort of seeing their beloved on the other side, in the halls of their forefathers. But Legolas?

Legolas, unless slain, would live forever. He would bury Kili and continue on without him. There was no hall for Legolas.

“That’s what this is about?” Dernwyn said, eyes wide. “That’s why you’ve shied away from him?” She glanced around at them all, and her eyes were accusing when they landed on Fili and Thorin. “That’s what this has all been about? Because one day we’ll _die_?”

It sounded almost foolish, now, with her incredulity coloring her tone. “I wasn’t aware it was such a topic of disregard,” Thorin said, eyes narrowed. “Do you not understand you’ll leave us behind?”

“Leave you…” She threw her hands into the air and muttered a curse beneath her breath. “We _know_ that. Do you think I don’t know that? I watched my mother bury my father, and my uncle bury my mother. I settled Thengel into his grave. I know what it means to be left behind.”

She spun to Fili, her glare falling. “That doesn’t mean I would rather live my life alone then to never stand beside you again,” she said. “You could die here, in Moria, and leave me a widow and your children fatherless, and _I_ could be the one left behind. Life is short and precious. I would rather spend the few years I have with the man I love. And I _know_ Kili and Bilbo feel the same.”

She let her words hang in the air before she spoke, a quiet, resigned tone. “Death is a part of life. It is a cruel part, and one never deserves to say goodbye to a loved one. It’s never fair, because you always want just one more day, but it’ll never be enough. I will _never_ have enough time with you,” and she took Fili’s hands in hers. “But I would rather have even a few short days with you than none at all.”

It was a truth that Thorin felt in his own blood. If he were told that he would only have a mere day left with Bilbo, he would be with his husband during every waking moment that he could, if just to have that one day. And he could envision, even now, how he would spend it: not thinking of the end of the day, but only of how to pull another smile forward, how to win that scowl that usually hid amusement.

For some reason, despite the fear still curling in his gut and the gravity of their situation, her words were calming. Not enough to abolish his anxiety, but enough to curtail it so he could focus.

Legolas still looked anxious, and no words from Dernwyn would keep his fear at bay. Still, he seemed to be trying to breathe more deeply, to calm himself. Fili, too, looked to be trying to accept his wife’s words as best he could. If only Thorin had known how desperately his sister-son and his elf-son had felt, that they had shared the same fears, he would have spoken sooner. Perhaps he would have found a peace himself.

The thought of Bilbo lost in this place, thieves seeking him out as a ransom, kept his heart pounding to the point of making him ill. He moved his attention to Legolas, who looked to be more agitated than Fili. After one last glance at Dwalin, still seated on a rock slab with Ori in front of him, he caught Legolas by the shoulder and watched the elf stare at him, almost desperately. Thorin swallowed. “Do not fear tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Fear today. And know that your fear is shared by all here. We _will_ find them. But I will need your help, before the end.”

There was no other option. They had to find Bilbo and Kili. The loss of his youngest sister-son would be devastating, and Thorin feared losing Legolas and Fili both if Kili fell. And if Bilbo fell…

It didn’t warrant thinking of, but Thorin’s heart pounded all the more painfully for it.

Aragorn came to him then, moving back down the rocks. “There is a drumming in the deep,” he said. “It sounds like a call to war.”

“We have to find the others,” Legolas began, but Aragorn caught him by his other shoulder. Thorin had a sudden memory of Thengel taking both Thorin and Aragorn by the shoulders, seeing the kings they would be before even they had. He felt a pang of loss and wished that Thengel was here, now, beside them. He had no doubt the king would have known what to do.

Aragorn stood tall, however, and spoke with a soft but insistent urgency. “We _will_ find them, of this I swear to you. If we are to discover what lies within Moria, however, if we are to end the fear and death that follows these thieves, we have to stay together. I have no doubt that if we follow the drums, we may very well find Kili and Bilbo. They could be well on their way to seeking the drums: if there is one thing I know about Bilbo, it is that he would be clever enough to search for answers.”

“And Kili wouldn’t abandon Bilbo,” Bofur said firmly. “You know it. So if we find one, we find both.”

Words meant not just for Legolas, but for Thorin as well, and he gave Aragorn a grateful nod. Aragorn returned the gesture with a slow nod of his own. Bilbo _would_ follow the drums, hoping they would do the same. If there was any chance of finding them, it was there.

Even now, Thorin could feel the steady thrum of a heavy drum beat, deep within his boots from the very stones they stood upon. It was steady and angry, a certain call to arms. It was for them, that much was certain. Following the drums was a danger all its own, for they would be met with the thieves.

Thorin had no trouble with that. Especially if it reunited him with his beloved, one whom he owed more words to than the paltry ones he had given outside of Moria. Yet they were all he had been able to give as the fear had almost swallowed him whole. He had never felt this way before: he had stood in battle and been the solid rock for his dwarves, had nearly met his own fate again and again without any qualms. The thought of Bilbo in battle, the thought of losing him…

He wasn’t strong enough to bear it. Losing Bilbo would end him, and it was as simple as that.

“That’s a war beat,” Dwalin rasped. When Thorin looked to his cousin, his face was wet and his eyes were red, but he stood tall and strong beside Ori. “Nothing good will follow it.”

“What’s that make us, then?” Gimli muttered, and Nori snorted a quick laugh. Even Dwalin managed a small grin, and Bofur gave Gimli a friendly nudge as thanks. Gandalf merely rolled his eyes.

“Uncle,” Fili said, and Thorin caught his gaze. His eyes were dark but sure, and he hefted his sword in his hands. “Let’s find Bilbo and Kili.”

“Aragorn, lead us,” Gandalf said, and Aragorn turned to move back up the path he’d found. Legolas kept his grip tight on his bow, and if his eyes were harder and more intently focused on the path, no one made mention of it. Thorin would almost prefer if he was angry. Anger was a key tool to use, where fear could only limit. Better for Legolas to be silent and furious than afraid.

They moved on through the darkness, following the steady, angry beat of the drums.

 

The pace had been brutal, made worse by the fear of not knowing where to place his feet as surely as the men did. They were obviously well familiar with the various paths through the mines, whereas Kili and Bilbo were not. It had felt too much like going through Mordor had, the orcs kicking him and urging him along all while his ankle had throbbed and ached and burned.

Except this time, he at least had Kili, and the thought reassured him even while it shamed him. He didn’t want anyone to suffer this fate, but especially not his warm-hearted, cheerful nephew. Kili was like a stone beside him, saying nothing, glowering at the men in front of them, taking their jeers and kicks in due silence. Only when they’d shoved at Bilbo and sent him spilling to the floor had he spoken up and told them off, then had raised Bilbo to his feet and kept him close. The lack of bound hands had helped in that regard, and when Kili had kept his arm wrapped around Bilbo to help him walk, the men had mostly left them alone. They hadn’t slowed the pace at all, however, and they’d marched on and on.

Then they’d stopped marching, and Bilbo had never wished to keep walking so much in his life.

The ragged remains of what had once been a throne room were lit by the red flames of fires below them. The smell was so sharp and acrid that his nose burned, and he rubbed at it with his hand, hoping to stop the sting. Everything was dark, hidden in shadows, save for that which was revealed by flickers of flames. Bodies hung from the ceiling by chains, bones and skin that left him feeling ill. Orcs and men and dwarves stood around, watching them with a harsh glare.

And at the end of the room, on a stone throne, sat a woman.

Even before they were forced to walk closer, Bilbo could see her beauty. For she was beautiful: long blonde hair that was done up on her head in an intricate fashion, a slender, though short, neck that almost seemed to beg for jewels to adorn it. Her green eyes were bright and vivid and watched them all the more closely as they approached. And when she smiled, it was a fearsome thing, terrible and brilliant all at the same time.

She stood, and she was so much shorter than Bilbo had expected, given the magnitude of her presence, that he stumbled in his next steps. Only when they’d been marched straight in front of the throne did she speak. “Am I in the presence of Bilbo Baggins?” she asked, and her voice was a little deeper than he’d expected. Yet it still sounded like a song, something that could have been beautiful, if not for the cruel lilt to it. “I held your kin here, some time ago.”

She glanced at Kili briefly, then moved her gaze back to Bilbo. He’d registered the surprise in her eyes, however: she hadn’t been expecting Kili. Good. They could be the surprise for once. “Have you brought others to my home?” she asked him. “For you were meant to come to me in _quite_ a different fashion.”

“I didn’t get your invitation,” Bilbo said, forcing himself to not bite his tongue. “My apologies if I wasn’t supposed to bring a guest.”

She gave a laugh as if delighted. “My, what a mouth on you,” she said, still grinning. “Such a way with your words. Yes, you’re the Bilbo Baggins I’ve been looking for.” She glanced at Kili, tilting her head to the side. “You have to be of the Line of Durin,” she said at last. Kili stiffened, clenching his fists. “The anger in your eyes, the features of your face, they all mark you as a Durin. Though what you’re doing in my domain, that is a question indeed.”

“I’m afraid we’re a little in the dark,” Bilbo said. “I don’t have your name to address you by properly, Miss…?”

“Caila,” she said. “My name is Caila, and I am the true Ruler of Dwarves.”

Silence followed that statement. Bilbo tried to find the right words, tried to figure out just _what_ she was saying, but Kili found his voice first. “You can’t be the Ruler of the Dwarves,” he said. “No one is. Not even if you married the King of Erebor, which will _never_ happen.”

“I don’t need to marry the King,” she said. “I just need to dispose of him. Dwarves don’t need to be a man to rule on their own.”

Bilbo frowned, focusing on anything else except for the words _dispose of him_. A dwarf? He’d never seen a dwarf as tall as she was, let alone one with only a brush of sideburns. Her hair was not thick and bushy, but looked slender and sleek to the touch. Only her broad jaw and wider stance gave her statement any credulity.

It was Kili, of course, who said what Bilbo had been thinking. “You’re not a dwarf,” he said. “There’s absolutely no way you could be-“

Swords were drawn and pointed their way, almost immediately, and Bilbo drew Kili back towards him. Caila’s green eyes burned like a dangerous fire. “I _am_ a dwarf,” she declared. “I may only be half in blood, but I am fully dwarf. My father’s blood does not matter at all.”

“Your father?” Bilbo hazarded asking. The longer she spoke, the longer Bilbo and Kili could live, and the longer Bilbo had to figure out just what they were going to do. The dense circle of thieves around them now was going to keep them well contained and captive. Never mind the fact that he had no clue just _where_ they could go.

“Elf,” she spat, and it began to make sense. Her rounded ears matched her face, but her hair went with her slender fingers. She was a perfect mix of dwarf and elf, and it was so obvious now, looking at her, that he wasn’t certain how he’d missed it the first time. “And I was cast away from every dwarven settlement for it years ago. I am, however, fully dwarf. His blood matters not.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you’re a bird in the sky or Durin the Deathless reborn,” Kili insisted. “The throne of Erebor is occupied. You can’t have it.”

“I could have any throne I wanted, let alone Erebor’s,” she said, and the dangerous gleam was back in her eyes. Bilbo pulled Kili closer still until they were nearly against a wall of thieves behind them. “But that matters not. No, I seek a different prize. What better way to prove my heritage, my _true_ heritage, then to take the greatest treasure from the greatest dwarf kingdom in all of Middle-Earth?”

Kili began to speak again, but Bilbo tightened his grip so suddenly on his arm that Kili could only let out a helpless gasp of pain. The Arkenstone. She had to want the Arkenstone. Why did it always come back to that terrible stone? “I don’t know what you intend to do with the Arkenstone, but how, exactly, will that make you the ruler of all the dwarves? And what do I have to do with anything?” he asked, apologetically rubbing Kili’s arm.

She smiled, a toothy thing that offered no comfort. “I don’t want the Heart of the Mountain. I hold six things that will not only prove my heritage, but gain me the title I deserve.” And she held out something small and sparkling in her hands, something Bilbo didn’t quite understand for a moment.

But beside him, Kili froze, staring at it intently, and Bilbo felt his gut lurch. “What is it?” he whispered.

It was Caila who answered. “A ring, little hobbit. Much like the one you carried to Mordor, except this ring belonged to a great and powerful dwarf. Six of them I have in my possession, now, and all of them will loan me exceptional power to rule over the dwarves.”

“Seven,” Kili said without thinking, and he winced. Her gaze narrowed, even while Bilbo all but begged someone, _anyone_ , to find them. He had a feeling the conversation was wrapping up swiftly.

“Seven rings went to the dwarves,” she agreed. “Yes, these are the seven rings of power you think they are. Well studied, little Durin. They were crafted by Sauron, then controlled by him. However, now that the One Ring is gone, they hold their own power, and when placed together, can lend their wearer great dominion.” She gazed at the ring in her hand much the same way that Bilbo imagined Gollum had stared after his precious, and it made him ill. “But the problem is that I only have six, as you so readily pointed out. The seventh is within Erebor, and the only being who could give it to me is your king.”

A ring of power was in Erebor? Bilbo knew he was staring at the small ring in her hand, his breathing coming unevenly. Had Thorin known? No, his husband would have told him there was a dangerous ring within the mountain, given Bilbo’s laborious trek to Mordor. But if there was anywhere that a ring could be in the mountain, it had to be in the Treasury. It _had_ to be.

The Treasury. The thieves had been trying to get into the Treasury. Bilbo hadn’t been their prize, _the ring_ had been their prize. _That’s_ why they’d tried to get in two years ago. And when that hadn’t worked, they’d decided upon another tactic in order to retrieve what they wanted, what _she_ wanted.

“Me,” he murmured, and Caila’s eyes slid up to meet his. “That’s why you wanted me. You ransomed the Shire to get me, then planned on ransoming me for the ring.”

Her eyes lit up with approval. “When they said you were clever, they weren’t lying,” she said. There was a madness in her voice and eyes, one Bilbo wanted to be very far away from. “Yes, you’re absolutely right. Except I didn’t really need you for the ransom.”

Bilbo’s heart faltered. “What?”

“I didn’t need you. I simply needed them to believe it was you, that I had you. You see, everyone knows that your king, your Thorin Oakenshield, he would drop it all for you. He would give up anything he had if just to have you back.”

Something tightened in his gut, and Bilbo rapidly shook his head. “He wouldn’t,” he swore. “Not everything, and certainly not a ring of power.”

“Ah, then you and I will have to agree to disagree.” She tilted her head just slightly, closing her hand around the ring at last. “Because I very much think he would.”

And he knew she was right. Before, he would have questioned it; there was only so much anyone would do for their loved ones before the good of others came into light. But after having watched Thorin all but crumble outside of Moria’s gates, falling apart and desperately cradling Bilbo…

_You’re my everything. I cannot…I cannot lose you._

Thorin would give her the ring. Thorin would give her his very life if it meant returning Bilbo unharmed.

Her eyes lit up in triumph. “You know he would. I can see it in your eyes. And _that_ , Bilbo Baggins, is why I took you for my very own. Because you would do anything for your kin, and Thorin? The great and mighty Thorin Oakenshield would give it all up for one little hobbit.”

She rolled the ring around in her hand, eyes watching it sparkle from the fires, and Bilbo thought he’d be ill. The Shire had never been the point. That was why there’d been so few orcs. She’d pulled Bilbo out of Erebor in order to take him captive, then had planned to ransom him back in order to take the ring. And the worst part of it all was that it was going to work.

“I wonder,” she mused out loud, watching Bilbo now, “I wonder where your king is. I had presumed him to be in Erebor, yet if you are here, with one of his heirs…perhaps he is nearer than I had anticipated?”

A chorus of shouts came from somewhere distant, catching everyone’s attention. “Go and aid them with her,” Caila ordered, and several of the thieves left. It wouldn’t be enough to escape from, but it gave Bilbo some small measure of hope. There were fewer thieves on the left: if they could just get through…

“She’s been a difficult pet to keep,” Caila said. She almost sounded bored, as if discussing the weather. “But I think, in the end, she’ll be worth it. Well worth the long journey from the caverns near Minas Morgul.”

“The what?” Kili asked, but Bilbo could barely hear him. The City of the Dead. His mind flashed back to Mordor, scaling the mountain, hands bloody, trying desperately to get up the stairs. Mablang’s knife at his throat, plunging into the darkness, running through the webs, getting hopelessly lost, then finding _her_.

“The City of the Dead, near Mordor,” Caila told him. She stared at Bilbo long and hard. “I have to presume you’re familiar with my pet, then. There were rumors that you fled from her once. I hadn’t thought anyone could have, but meeting you now…yes, you could have done it.”

Bilbo shut his eyes and tried not to fall back into his memories. The hot air around them didn’t help. She couldn’t be here. She just _couldn’t_. There was absolutely no possible way that they could have taken her from the caverns and brought her all the way across Middle-Earth without anyone noticing.

Kili gripped his shoulders tightly. “Who is she talking about?” he hissed, but Bilbo shook his head. The heat everywhere around him, the pain in his ankle, it was too much to even consider thinking about _her._

Kili gave a frustrated huff and turned instead to the woman before them. “What do you mean, you only needed them to believe it was him?” he demanded. “Uncle wouldn’t give up anything unless he had Bilbo.”

Caila settled back into her throne, casually lounging as if she had not a care in the world. However, her eyes were fixed solely on them, and that, Bilbo was quickly discovering, was not a good thing. She was far too clever, far too quick, and far too calculated. They were used to dealing with the impulsive and foolish responses of the orcs, the enraged and maddened attacks of men. She was calm and collected, and she had a plan. So far, she had been two steps ahead of them, and all for her final goal.

He wondered if, once upon a time, Sauron had been like this, collected and careful in his every plan until he’d dominated Mordor completely and managed to spread his darkness throughout Middle-Earth. He shuddered.

“I had planned on showing him Bilbo,” she agreed. “But now I have you instead, a good faith token, and I need not even bring Bilbo forward.” She moved her attention to Bilbo. “Which is good, as you’ve already been promised to another. I never would have given you to your king. Once I have my ring, nothing else will matter.”

“Promised…?” Bilbo began, then watched as a dark shape emerged from the shadows. His heart stopped in his chest, and true fear began to blossom inside him. No. Oh sweet Eru _no_.

“In exchange for my fine army of dwarves, and his allegiance, you were the price. I thought it quite an affordable one,” Caila said, and her eyes all but gleamed in the darkness. “He is my greatest general, and for that, I would give him anything.”

Lips turned up into a sneer, followed by his cruel voice. “I believe it’s been a very long time since we last saw each other, _your majesty_. I have to say, however, that I’m very pleased to see you.”

And when Kili shoved Bilbo behind him, Bilbo too numb to move, Dekir’s smile broadened all the more.


	20. A living nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Kili find themselves trapped in the worst situation they could find themselves in.
> 
> But Fili and the others will discover even more nightmares in Moria's caverns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there's a lot happening in this chapter. There are no warnings needed, nothing's violent or grotesque or non-con or ANYTHING like that. I swear to you. I'm hoping to post chapter 21 later today to give you guys the very long resolution type chapter.
> 
> Bear with me...

It felt like the world was shattering. Caila sat on her throne, looking like a predator that had her prey well and truly cornered. Beside her stood Dekir, and behind him, Kili could now see Rutar as well. Rutar’s face held a few more scars since the last time Kili had seen them, and both sported longer beards. Dekir’s most stunning difference, however, was a long scar that spanned from his jaw nearly up to his forehead, jagged and old and slicing through part of his beard. The area around it was inked in war marks and dwarven runes. It was obviously a scar he was proud of, but it was such a contrast from the clean and proud dwarf that Kili remembered that it left him speechless for a few moments.

Only a few. Only long enough for Dekir to start moving towards them, and Kili caught Bilbo and moved back.

He hit the wall of thieves behind them, and they threw them both forward, laughing. Dekir wasn’t laughing, but his lips were still turned up in a sharp grin. Frantically, Kili fought to think of anything to stop him from what he was obviously intending to do. Dekir hadn’t asked for Bilbo for a friendly tea party. “You’ve changed, and not for the better,” Kili said, keeping himself in front of his uncle. “You’re awfully cozy with that which you said you hated.”

“Oh? How so?” Rutar asked for his cousin.

“You’re pledging yourself to a half-breed,” Kili said. Bilbo grabbed his arm so fiercely he thought he’d break it, but the words were out there, and it was far too late to take them back. Caila’s eyes burned through him, enraged, and from beside Rutar, a man stepped forward with fury on his face. He was the same man from the forests, the one who’d ordered the orcs and thieves to move forward. His long dark hair was still perfectly pristine, but Rutar caught him and hauled him back before he could take more than just a few steps forward.

Dekir didn’t even look backwards, merely holding up his hand. “Peace, Lenegar,” he said, and he snorted. “The pup just wants to play.” To Kili he said, “She is no half-breed, but an unfortunate victim of that which you encourage. I found her wandering amongst the towns of men, much as I was cast out. Her mother, her good dwarven mother who was led astray, was dead, and she was fending for herself. You and the rest of the line of Durin have tainted the world of dwarves, allowing dwarven blood to mix with human blood. You have discarded purity. Caila, my Queen, intends to abolish that practice, when she takes the rings as her own. That will prove, above all, her true heritage: that of a dwarf.”

They were mad, all of them, and Kili wished fervently for his bow. His quiver had been seized, as had Bilbo’s blade, and even now were held in the hands of the thieves. His fingers itched to pull an arrow, just one arrow, and sink it into Dekir’s skull. He didn’t care if they killed him, after that. So long as he could take Dekir down, Kili would gladly die for that.

He’d nearly killed Bilbo, all those long years ago. Kili had watched his uncle fall. No, Dekir deserved to die, should have died then. But Bilbo had been Bilbo, and he had spared him and Rutar.

Kili couldn’t help but wonder at what thoughts were going through his uncle’s head. He had no doubt there was guilt and self-blame. They’d deal with it later: as long as Kili could get his uncle out of this mess, he’d let Bilbo have his anguish. But they had to get out of this.

Even as various thoughts and rapid ideas ran through his mind, he suddenly found himself seized and pulled away from Bilbo. “No!” Kili shouted, fighting with everything he had to get out of the strong hold. But both thieves behind him were too strong, and Bilbo was similarly restrained. Dekir seemed almost bored as he drew forth his long blade, and Kili’s heart stopped. No, no, _no_ -

Oh Mahal, he needed Thorin, he needed Fili, he needed Legolas, he needed them and he needed them _now_. He struggled again and only got his arm pinned to the point of pain behind him. At this rate, they were going to pop his shoulder, but he didn’t care. Not if he could get free to Bilbo.

Bilbo looked terrified, fighting to get free but watching Dekir’s every move. The dwarf twirled his blade, the flames making it gleam in the darkness. It was long, sharpened to perfection, and not a single dent on it. Without any warning he swung it forward at Bilbo.

“ _NO_!” Kili screamed, even as Bilbo let out a sharp cry of pain. The thieves released him, and he fell forward towards the ground, grasping at his face. Dekir glanced at the blood trailing down his once clean blade and smiled triumphantly. Desperately Kili fought to get free, to move forward, to do _something_.

“Get up,” Dekir said. Bilbo didn’t move, and Kili could see the blood dripping between his fingers. Impatiently, the dwarf moved his blade to rest beneath Bilbo’s chin, forcing Bilbo to tilt his head up. “I said, get _up_ ,” Dekir growled.

Slowly Bilbo rose to his feet, and Dekir used the flat of his blade to knock his hands away. It was a deep line across his cheek, narrowly missing his eye and nose, and Kili breathed a shaky sigh of relief. It was still bleeding, but it would heal. If he could get Bilbo out of here, it would heal.

Dekir glanced around at the ground, and after a moment, seemed to find what he was searching for. He caught something with his blade and lifted it high, the tip of his blade almost right in front of Bilbo’s face. Only when Kili realized what it was did he frantically look to Bilbo. He hadn’t, he couldn’t have. But Mahal, he _had_.

“Take it,” Dekir ordered, and Bilbo slowly reached to take the remains of the marriage braid from the blade. From his captive point, Kili seethed. He’d cut it off. He’d dared to cut it off. The braid was bloody from the blade, but the bead was still there, at least. Bilbo looked _wretched_ , clinging to it so tightly his knuckles were white. It was his comfort, his one thing he clung to when distressed. And now it hung tattered in his hands, a bloody reminder of what was to come.

Kili hung his head, tears stinging his eyes at the sheer humiliation Dekir was delivering to Bilbo. Mahal, he was going to murder his uncle, and Kili wouldn’t be able to stop him. There was nothing he could do.

“I should make you eat it,” Dekir swore. “I should make you choke that loathsome thing down. You never deserved it, to wear the marriage bead from the great line of Durin. You have _no idea_ what you did, how you tainted and ruined _everything_.”

“Just do it,” Rutar told him. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“No,” Kili couldn’t help but croak out; a token protest that would mean nothing except to himself. “Please, no, take me-“

“Kili, no,” Bilbo said as firmly as he could. He didn’t take his eyes off of Dekir, though. Dekir sneered at him.

Kili was going to be sick. “He spared your life,” he protested, something, _anything_ , to keep Dekir from delivering the final blow. There was no Dril here to save the day, there was no one who would keep Bilbo alive. “He could have had you both executed and he spared you!”

“Which I am grateful for,” Dekir agreed. He swung his blade around expertly, then shifted his grip to better support a forward thrust. “And now he’ll learn that mercy does one no good, in the end.” And with that, Dekir shoved his blade forward, straight for Bilbo’s heart.

He didn’t know how he did it. One minute, he was in the tight hold of the thieves, and the next, he was between Bilbo and Dekir, and the moment after that, there was simply pain. Hot, burning pain, the likes of which Kili had never felt before, shooting through his very being and leaving him too hot. He didn’t even know if Sauron had burned him like this. His name was being screamed, a muted echo that Kili could barely hear over the rushing in his ears.

Then the blade was removed, and Kili slumped forward and into someone’s arms. Bilbo, his uncle, that was who had him. Bilbo was murmuring panicked nonsense, clinging to him, pressing tight against the wound in Kili’s lower chest. From behind him, he heard a bellow of rage and the hum of a moving blade.

But it never fell. Kili managed to glance to the side and found Dekir being held back by Lenegar. “He is mine to kill!” Dekir swore, and he turned to Caila. “You promised him to me!”

“Except now my other ransom point is dying,” she said sharply. “Now I have to at least be able to show Bilbo to the king. We revert to the original plan: Bilbo will remain our captive until I can make the ransom to Thorin. When that is done, you may kill him then, or keep him to torture him, or do whatever you like. I don’t care. But you will _not_ jeopardize my plans. We’ve come too far for this.”

Dekir still looked furious and ready to plunge his sword back into Bilbo. Kili managed to curl himself around his uncle, who was kneeling and holding onto Kili as best he could. Caila glanced between them and finally changed her tone. “Dekir,” she murmured, moving from her throne and down to the dwarf. She carefully placed a hand to his cheek, thumb brushing over the ink there. Dekir swung his glare to her.

Caila held his gaze without qualm. At least, that was how it looked: the world was starting to go blurry. Still, her voice rang clear. “I keep my promises,” she told him. “I had promised to bring you Bilbo Baggins, and I did. Our original plan was to hold off on killing him until we had the ring. Do you remember? You wanted Thorin Oakenshield to watch his husband die. Isn’t that better?”

Kili had an arrow for her, too. He thought she might appreciate being felled by an elven arrow. Well, Kili would appreciate it, at least. He didn’t think he had the strength to do it now, though. His side burned, and he only felt cold now. Worse yet, it was getting colder by the minute, though the wound still ached and burned. He could feel the blood seeping over his skin, and it left him feeling sick.

Dekir finally gave a short nod. “Take them elsewhere,” he ordered. He glanced at Rutar. “Find them a hobbit hole to stay in,” he said, and the thieves shared a laugh.

“I can take him, I can take him,” Bilbo pleaded, but Kili found himself dragged away from Bilbo again. It pulled at the wound in his side something horrible, forcing him to grit his teeth. He had to stay awake. He had to focus. He had to watch his uncle.

They were shoving Bilbo down a stone path, pushing him roughly until he all but stumbled. Hands kept reaching for his face, poking at the wound, pulling at the remnants of his braid, and Bilbo flinched away from them with every rough grasp. Kili fought to get his legs beneath him, but the world was swimming in and out of focus.

All he could think of was his own marriage braid and the elf who’d lovingly woven it into his hair. Legolas. His eyes burned at the sheer amount of _longing_ he felt. What he wouldn’t have given to have his husband there right now. Sick and in so much pain, arms painfully pulled to each side as they dragged him onward, all Kili wanted was to curl up in Legolas’s arms.

When he blinked, he was suddenly no longer being dragged, and he watched as a stone was rolled away from a wall. Above the wall were orcs, jeering at them. He could hear drums and shouts in the distance, reverberating in his head.

Then he was being thrown into darkness, and when he landed, he let out a cry of pain. Mahal, it _hurt_ , and the sharp spike of flaring agony soon gave way to the cold that was only growing, seeping into his very veins.

Gentle hands caught him and turned him over, and then he was in the lap of someone smaller than he was. Bilbo. “Are you all…all right?” Kili asked, surprised at how difficult talking was. He could barely see Bilbo in the dark, the only light coming from the carved holes above them, tinting the room with the red blaze of distant flames. He reached up to his uncle with his hand, but it shook so much that it let it fall beside him.

Bilbo didn’t answer him, instead pressing on the wound. It ached enough to make him hiss at the pressure. “Sorry,” his uncle mumbled, but he kept pressing. It did nothing to help the cold.

“I’m cold,” Kili said. He sounded like he had as a child, asking his mother for a blanket when all he’d really wanted was for her to hold him and wrap him up tight. Fili had held him, too. And more than once had he fallen asleep in Thorin’s hold as a child, his uncle sitting with him beside a roaring fire.

Legolas held him now. He missed Legolas holding him.

“I know,” Bilbo whispered. “I know. We’ll keep each other warm.”

The braid. Bilbo’s braid. “Your braid-“

“I have it,” and Bilbo’s voice cracked. “I…I have it.”

The drumming kept going. Kili could only hope it wasn’t because they’d found the others. The windows were too high, too small. Not even Bilbo would fit. Bilbo wouldn’t, though, even if he could have fit. He wouldn’t leave Kili.

Maybe when Kili was dead. Maybe Bilbo would go then. Because it was going to happen. He was dying now, and he wasn’t sorry about it. He’d sworn to Dekir he would give his life for Bilbo’s, and somehow, he’d managed to do it. He only wished he could’ve spoken to Legolas one last time. Let Legolas know how much Kili loved him. He hoped Bilbo would give Legolas his bow and quiver and his marriage bead.

“Uncle, can you tell Legolas-“

“They gave us our weapons,” Bilbo said, cutting him off. “They threw them down here with us. I can see Sting in the corner. Not that it’ll do us much good, but when they open the door again, we’ll be ready, you and I.”

Bilbo would be, at least. But Kili nodded and curled up against Bilbo, feeling his warmth go straight through him.

“Uncle?”

“Yes, Kili?”

“Who is she? The pet that Caila…Caila spoke of?”

Breathing was starting to hurt more and more. The pain throbbed within him, screaming that something was very wrong. He wanted someone to make it better, someone to make it all right.

When Bilbo spoke again, however, his voice was barely above a whisper. His answer sent a spark of fear through Kili’s heart, remembering the halting tales that Bilbo had finally dared to tell after they had returned to Erebor.

“Shelob. She was talking about Shelob.”

 

Fili wasn’t certain he could stand the constant thrum in his legs for a minute more. It was never ending, the drumming, a horrible feeling that kept threatening to knock his feet out from under him. Beside him, Dernwyn didn’t seem much better, stumbling every few steps and taking each one carefully. The smooth stone didn’t help.

At least they were getting louder. That told him they were going the right way.

Dernwyn almost tripped again and Fili caught her by the elbow to keep her up. She gave him a quick smile before moving on, and Fili found himself murmuring to her, “I wish you weren’t here.”

She whipped her gaze back to him, and he continued before she could take offense. “I just…seeing you here, in this place. I hate it. You should be in the sun and wind, not down here in the dark.” Not with the flames that failed to keep the darkness at bay. Not with the cold stone and the constant drumming.

After a moment, she moved her arm so she could take him by the hand. “I don’t like you down here, either,” she said. “You and I are going to go back to Erebor and play with the children outside for days. And Kili’s going to play with us, and Bilbo’s going to scowl at us all for getting dirty in the dirt, but then he’ll teach Lili and Holdred how to see shapes in the clouds.”

It made him want to close his eyes and fully imagine it: little Lili and Holdred lying in the grass beside Bilbo as his uncle pointed out various clouds. Kili next to Legolas in the grass, happy and content. Thorin sitting on a rock with his pipe, watching Bilbo with that fond look on his face. Dernwyn, standing in the tall grass, hair flying in the breeze as it had so many years ago in Rohan.

He squeezed her hand tightly. “It’s a promise,” he said, and even in the dark, her smile couldn’t be dimmed. They would find Bilbo and Kili, they would stop the thieves, and then they would go _home_.

When they stepped out of a broken hallway, the drumming suddenly got so much louder that Fili flinched. It echoed all around them in the cavern, and far below them, he could see flames and hear battle cries. Gandalf gestured for them to duck, and they crept along the rocks until they reached a jutted out edge. Only after Fili had knelt there, ensuring Dernwyn was also safe, did he peer over the edge.

It took a moment for the horror in his chest to catch up with his mind, so stunned was he. The cavern was huge, and there were fire pits everywhere. In the corner, on top of a broken pillar, stood three orcs with large drums, beating tirelessly their angry sound. But what stood around the flames had his attention more than anything else.

They were beyond the counting. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of men, dwarves, and orcs were all gathered together. They were fashioning swords by several anvils and handing them off to others while still more handed out helmets. All of them appeared to be standing at attention. All of them appeared to be at the ready for battle.

This was more than he’d anticipated. This was more than any of them had anticipated. This was an army, and Fili felt his heart trip for a moment.

“Mahal help us,” Bofur murmured. Tauriel said nothing, but she moved closer to Esmeralda, who stared down at the numbers with wide eyes.

Fili dared to glance at his uncle and found Thorin looking just as stunned as everyone else. This hadn’t been expected. “You said only a few orcs were in the Shire?” he asked softly.

Thorin swallowed. “Thirty, perhaps. A mere handful. This…” He shook his head, as if unable to do anything else. “I had not prepared for such great numbers.”

This was more than they could handle. There was no way that their company could take them on, especially with two of them missing. Fili glanced around the cavern at various other places that people could hide, but he saw no one of a hobbit or brother variety. If Bilbo and Kili had heard the drums, they weren’t here.

Aragorn shifted back away from the edge, face grim. “These numbers are more than we could take,” he said. “There is nothing we can do here. Given what we faced in the Shire, I did not expect such a great mounting.”

“Neither did I,” Thorin agreed. He glanced back down, eyeing them with trepidation. “I would need the force of Erebor to hold back this wave. Perhaps help from Dale as well.”

“We could do it,” Dernwyn said. “Morwen promised aid from Rohan. If we can only find Kili and Bilbo, we could return here and take them out.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go back to Erebor?” Fili asked, adding a hint of jest to his tone. Dernwyn still scowled at him and smacked him on the arm.

“I’ll go back, and happily, if you come with me,” she said. “Not without you.”

It was fair enough. The thought of Dernwyn feeling just as wretched as Fili did, at the thought of the other in danger, had lessened his own fear somewhat. He had other things to focus on besides: thinking of how little time he had left with her was to be tabled for later discussions. Right now, she was here, and if this was his last day with her, he would take it in force.

Dwalin suddenly went so stiff Fili thought he’d been wounded. “Dwalin?” Ori whispered, having seen the same thing, and when Fili looked at the dwarf, Dwalin’s eyes were filled with shock and fury. “Dwalin?”

“Thorin,” he growled low in his throat, and everyone quickly moved back to the edge. Only when Fili followed his gaze did he see what had Dwalin so angry, and he understood the rage in an instant.

 _Dekir_.

“Impossible,” Nori muttered. “That’s _impossible_.”

But it was Dekir and Rutar, walking down a sloped path to the floor where the army was. Both held signs of how the last many years had treated them: longer beards, more lines about their face, and, especially in Dekir’s case, scars to match the lines. But it was definitely them, and there was no mistaking it.

Dekir looked as angry as Fili remembered him being. Rutar looked just as annoyed, but he appeared to be trying to console his cousin. “The plan’s still good,” he was saying.

“I should’ve taken my chance instead of dawdling,” Dekir grunted. “I had the chance and I missed it. She took it from me, and now she’s punishing me for it.” He pulled out a bloody blade and scowled at it.

The mystery woman again. Of course Dekir was in league with her. Because their lives weren’t difficult enough at the moment; why not throw two of their worst nightmares right back at them, along with everything else that was happening?

Rutar shook his head. “I don’t care what she says. You deserved to do it: the miserable Halfling’s had it coming for years.”

Fili whipped his head around to Thorin so fast his beads made his face sting. Thorin was staring in horror, fingers gripping the edge of stone until Fili feared he’d make himself bleed. Bilbo. Mahal, Dekir had _Bilbo_.

Which meant he had Kili, too. Fili shut his eyes tight at Legolas’s pained exhale when his elf-brother came to the same conclusion. If Fili had thought seeing the army, then Dekir and Rutar, had been a nightmare, he’d been wrong.

This, right here and right now, was a nightmare, and they were being forced to live it out to its cruel end.

Dekir caught a cloth from one of the thieves and turned to his blade. There was indeed blood on the gleaming metal, halfway up the long blade, and Dwalin gave a growl. Esmeralda shut her eyes tight and turned away. Thorin’s head hung low, his hair hanging about him and hiding his face. There was only one way to gather that much blood on a blade, and Fili was going to be sick. Dead. Bilbo had to be dead.

“I should’ve just killed him,” Dekir said, viciously wiping the blade down. Fili blinked. “I had the chance and I should’ve just taken it. _Damn_ whatever she says. I’ve done my waiting.”

“You’ll get your chance,” Rutar said. “We’ve waited this long. We can wait a little longer. Besides, it’s not as if he’s going anywhere now, is he?”

Dekir gave him a long, hard stare, completely unaware of the sudden relief that flooded the company high above him. Not dead. Bilbo wasn’t dead.

They hadn’t mentioned Kili, either. Had Kili and Bilbo split up, to cover more ground, and Bilbo had been captured? “C’mon, say something,” Fili muttered. Aragorn caught him by the shoulder and held him fast, and Fili took comfort in the anger that spanned the man’s face. Bilbo was a dear friend of the king’s, and the two dwarves below had just made a powerful enemy they didn’t even know about.

Not that Thorin would let anyone else except for him kill them. No, their days were marked now. When Thorin got the chance, he’d end them both. Fili was looking forward to it.

Rutar crossed his arms. “We’ve bigger things to deal with, and you know it. If we’re to get moving like she wants us to, we need to get up to the North Gate. The sooner we do that, the sooner you get to kill him. Fair?”

After a long moment, Dekir gave a short nod. “Fair. Is everything else ready?”

“Ask them. I haven’t been down here to watch the process. I think it’s going well enough, though. Well enough for her, and she’s led us without problem so far.”

That seemed to finally put Dekir at ease. “She has. That she has.” He glanced at Rutar with a sharp grin. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so good,” he said, and Rutar chuckled. After tossing the now bloody cloth behind him, Dekir sheathed his blade and wandered down into the army, Rutar right behind him.

Slowly the company pulled away from the ledge. Fili’s head whirled with everything they’d heard. Dekir and the mystery woman were working together, there was an army of great numbers there, and Bilbo was marked for death.

Aragorn grasped Thorin’s shoulder and shook him a little. “He’s still alive,” he said. “We just need to find him.”

“I wish he had spoken of Kili,” Legolas said quietly. He glanced over the edge, and his brow furrowed in anger. “Perhaps I am glad that he did not.”

Gandalf began to walk back to the broken hallway, leaving the others to hurry and follow. “What’s wrong?” Gimli asked. “I’ve never seen ye to look so distraught before.”

The wizard did look faintly ill, and the last time Fili had seen him look that way had been before they’d taken on Saurman at Isengard. The memory was enough to make _Fili_ feel sick.

“The North Gate,” Gandalf said. “That was where I had hoped to take us, in order to lead us out. But if they’re going to lead their army that way, then the way is shut. We cannot hope to race them and make it out before they do. Even if we did, they would hound us.”

“Is there no other way out?” Ori said, frowning. “There were other gates. They could still be open to us. What of the East Gate?”

Gandalf turned to gaze at him, and he looked so old that Fili wanted to step away. His gaze was haunted, and there seemed to be an infinite world of knowledge and pain in his eyes. He looked powerful but so world weary that Fili almost cringed to see it.

After a moment, however, Gandalf sighed and returned to being the wizard Fili knew so well. “I do not know if it still stands,” he said. “If the path to the gate is open, then I will lead you all out. But it is some distance from here, and I cannot guarantee my success.”

“You want us to split up,” Éomund began, but Gandalf shook his head.

“No! I will go alone. You all must continue searching for Bilbo and Kili. There is something going on here that extends beyond the taking of the Shire or the ransoming of Bilbo. Something that goes well beyond the want of land or gold.” He shook his head. “It may not be for us to discover now. Now, our greatest purpose is to find those lost to us and rescue them. My heart tells me that though Bilbo may yet be alive, he is still in mortal peril. I can only hope that Kili is with him.”

He turned and began to head down one of the rambling paths. “How will we find you?” Esmeralda asked.

“I will find _you_ ,” Gandalf tossed over his shoulder. And then he was gone, swallowed up into the darkness.

Without him, they had no guiding light, and Fili felt a sudden chill creep up his spine. Dernwyn stepped beside him, sharing some of her warmth. “Courage,” she whispered. “Courage for Bilbo and Kili. I fear they will have none.”

He feared the same. “Which way, Uncle?” he asked.

Thorin moved forward without a sound, Aragorn and Legolas right behind him. Fili made certain that Dernwyn was beside him before he followed into the maze of stone passageways. All around them, the drums continued, and shadows danced across the fires from below.

_Uncle, Kili, please be all right._

 

It was almost more than he could bear. This place, this _horrible_ place, it was everywhere he shouldn’t be, everything he feared. He almost kept his focus on his own face, so fierce was the pain, but it only made the feeling in his stomach that much worse. It was still better than the emptiness and despair that seemed to be choking him, the darkness he could barely see through.

It was still better than the cold, too still body in his arms.

“My mother used to sing me a song,” Bilbo said suddenly, cutting through the terrible silence. He could only hear the dull murmur of the roars beyond them, and he swallowed hard, terror slicing him up inside like claws. His ears kept straining to distinguish the sounds, if it was Shelob he was hearing, and the uncertainty left him feeling so sick he couldn’t bear it. It was so dark, so horrific and cold, and he could barely make out Kili’s still form in his arms. He shifted to better pull Kili up against him. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Only h-heard you sing…twice, I think,” Kili whispered. His breath was a gentle puff of air against Bilbo’s cheek. He shuddered when he spoke, the strain on his body obvious. Bilbo didn’t know how long Kili could keep going: already he could feel his nephew’s blood on his hands getting sticky as it dried.

He shut his eyes against the darkness and took a few calming breaths. _Keep talking. For Kili._ “That’s because my voice isn’t fit for ears that belong to people I care about,” Bilbo managed, and the huff of amusement was worth every gold coin he’d ever laid eyes on. “I’ll only sing if you stay awake, though. You have to tell me how horrible I was.”

“Absolutely,” Kili promised breathlessly. “Worst thing ev…”

He went silent. “Kili?” Bilbo shook the body in his arms, not even caring that he was pleading. “Kili, wake up! _Kili_!”

Kili jerked slightly in his arms. “Ever,” he finished. “Y’gonna sing?”

Bilbo let out a startled laugh that ended with a sob. “Yes, I’ll sing.” If Kili actually lived through this, Bilbo was going to _kill_ him for scaring him like this. Every breath he took seemed to be shorter than the last, and the rasps left Bilbo’s heart pounding in fear. _Eru, Mahal, someone, please help him, help us both._

He took a deep breath and began to sing. “ _Out, out, far beyond hills, and past, past, rivers and mills, you’ll find people unknown, and tales you can bring back home._ ”

His voice kept trembling, wobbling worse than it usually did, but Kili was still breathing. The dwarf almost seemed to be clinging to the song, so Bilbo pressed on. “ _So down, down, down through the valleys, high, high, high through the mountains, you’ll see places with wonder, and tales you can bring back home._ ”

He didn’t think his mother had ever thought of Moria. Dark, terrible Moria with its secrets and its death and its cold that was seeping into his very bones. He didn’t think he should ever be warm again, after having been in Moria now. It didn’t help that Kili was taking all of his warmth, but he needed it, and Bilbo was already dreading the moment when he had no body heat left to give his nephew.

Kili’s next breath was a shuddered exhale, and Bilbo shook. “ _So hush, hush, you should be sleeping, dream, dream, dreaming my darling, of what you’ll discover one day, and the tales that you’ll bring back home._ ” He swallowed back a sob. “Kili? How dreadful was I?”

Kili didn’t answer. Bilbo buried his face in Kili’s tangled hair for just a moment, his tears sliding into the dwarf’s dark strands. “Mahal help us,” he whispered, and when he raised his head, the world was still dark and cold. His next plea was even more fervent then the first.

“Thorin, come find us, _please_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's song, words written by me, is set to "Smile In Your Sleep (Hush Hush)", composed by Jim McLean, a Gaelic lament for the victims of the Highland Clearance. He set the tune to the Mist-Covered Mountains, a traditional tune. I grew up to the version done by Isla St. Clair. It's an absolutely haunting, gorgeous tune. One of my all time favorites. Please give it a listen, if just to hear how Bilbo would've sung it. I set the words to the refrain, though the tune stays mostly the same through the entire song.
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVUkPt1pZvQ


	21. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company is reunited. But demons, past and present, will need to be dealt with in order to escape Moria.
> 
> Warning: there is a spider in this. Yes, THAT spider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I dedicate this to all my readers who have been feeling angst over the last past couple chapters. I'm anticipating that a few of you are going to cheer upon reading certain sections of this chapter. It's very long. I hope that helps too.
> 
> There IS a spider in this. Shelob makes her appearance. But I promise you, you'll like how it ends if you hate spiders...
> 
> You know I love y'all. I can only bear angst for so long.

The sound was barely there. A breath on the air, nothing more than a soft sigh. But Thorin still heard it.

He held his hand up and everyone instantly froze. “What is it?” Fili asked.

Thorin closed his eyes. The raging fires and the moving shadows disappeared, and he focused on that one soft sound. With the drumming and the shouting it was almost impossible to hear, but it was still there. A voice on the wind, a gentle melody that was so out of place in Moria that one couldn’t help but hear it. A _song_ , here in Moria.

And it was a voice that Thorin knew all too well.

“Bilbo,” was all he said, and Legolas took off ahead of him. Thorin hurried to catch up, knowing it was too late to call the elf back. Any additional sound wouldn’t be welcome at the moment: the less the thieves heard their voices, the better. If they were to have any chance of escaping with their lives, they had to remain silent.

“I hear it now,” Legolas called back, his voice somehow pitched just for them. “Up ahead, here-“

If Legolas hadn’t pointed, Thorin never would’ve seen it for what it was. A large stone was pushed against a wall, and closer inspection revealed the groove in the floor. A secret door, with only a few cracks. Not even enough to let in light, but enough, just enough, to let in sound. Or in this case, let out a soft, barely there voice. The wall itself wasn’t tall, walkways and more easily seen above, which meant the door led down. A hole in the ground.

Thorin tightened his grip on Orcrist until he thought his hands would break. “I should have killed him when I had the chance,” he growled. Of course Dekir had chosen to throw his husband in there. It _suited_ a hobbit, after all.

“Get Bilbo and Kili out first,” Aragorn said, catching his arm. After a moment, Thorin’s grip lessened. “Then we’ll hunt them down.”

“Agreed,” Thorin said. He sheathed his blade and caught the edge of the door. There was no lock: its weight was all the security it needed. Aragorn and Legolas caught the door around him, and Dwalin hurried to lend his strength. The others stood guard as they shoved and pulled it away. The stone groaned, making too much noise, but Thorin refused to be swayed. Bilbo was in there, and he would find him.

The door finally moved away, and with a heavy shove it slid away from the hole. All Thorin could see was total darkness, and he peered inside. “Bilbo?” he called. _Please, let him be here, let them both be here._

And from the darkness, a trembling voice returned his call. “Thorin?”

Thorin let out a sigh of relief. “I’m here, beloved. Is Kili-“

“He needs help,” Bilbo said frantically, and Thorin froze. “Thorin, he’s hurt, badly, I-I’ve been trying to keep him awake but-“

Legolas dropped into the darkness before Thorin could stop him. “How badly?” Fili called after him.

Silence prevailed until the elf spoke. His voice was grim and edged with fear. “He has bled out more than I would wish. But if we can get him to help, if we can bring him to aid or aid to him, he will live. But we have to move _now_.”

“Never heard better words,” Dwalin said viciously. “Ready to be done with Moria forever.”

Thorin, too, would be happy to never see this place again. “Legolas,” he called, and a moment later, the elf reappeared, Bilbo beside him, Kili in his arms. His nephew was still, so still, in Legolas’s arms, his skin almost parchment white where there wasn’t dark blood staining it. Fili let out a broken sound and hurried to his brother’s side, looking just as terrified as Legolas did, though the elf was trying to hide it. Only the rattling from Kili’s chest soothed them; his breaths were horrible but they were breaths, and that was a miracle in and of itself.

Bilbo also watched Kili in fear, and Thorin stared at the blood covering his husband. “You…” he started and couldn’t finish, terror seizing his voice. Too readily his mind called forward the bloody blade that Dekir had been cleaning.

But Bilbo shook his head. “No, it’s, it’s not mine, it’s Kili’s. I tried to stop the bleeding as best I could, but there was so much of it.” He swallowed hard. “Thorin, Dekir-”

“We know,” Bofur said quietly. “We saw ‘em.”

Bilbo clenched his hands tight, looking to Kili again. “He took the blow…for me. Dekir meant to strike me and Kili took it instead.”

Dwalin cursed vehemently, and Thorin forced his fists not to tighten. He focused his attentions instead on his husband. Both Kili and Bilbo were filthy, covered in dirt and grime just as they all were, though it was made more evident by the tear tracks on Bilbo’s face. Thorin forced himself to not focus on the blood staining his husband’s shirt and instead gazed at his face.

The bloody bruise caught his attention immediately. Thorin reached for Bilbo, only to stare, stunned, when Bilbo shied away. “Sorry, I just,” Bilbo mumbled, shaking himself.

Instinct. Deflecting oneself from a blow, and though Bilbo obviously hadn’t thought Thorin would strike him, he’d seen a hand coming at him and had backed away. Even in the short time they’d been apart, it had been enough to solidify a need to hide when someone reached for him.

Thorin was going to pull Dekir’s body apart, piece by piece, before he let him die. He kept his anger reigned in when he reached for Bilbo again, and this time Bilbo let him, even leaning into the touch. The bruise was massive, and there was a deep cut from whatever had struck him. It covered most of his left cheek and reached up to his eye. Only then did his eyes catch on the braid, and Thorin froze, staring in utter horror.

It was gone. The marriage braid was _gone._ What little was left looked frayed at the ends, and only a few strands remained partially woven. The jagged edges matched neatly with the line across Bilbo’s face, and Thorin could well imagine the blade, slicing off the most precious of promises and severely hurting Bilbo in the process. When Thorin tenderly ran a thumb over the abused flesh, eyes helplessly staring at the braid, Bilbo looked away, shame in his eyes.

And that was the last straw. Thorin whirled away, fury flooding him, his vision hazy and red. “Thorin, no,” Dwalin growled, catching Thorin to keep him back, Aragorn and Nori standing at the ready.

“I will _kill him_ ,” Thorin raged. “I will slaughter him-“

“Kili’s more important,” Bilbo insisted, voice rough. Thorin began to argue but Bilbo shook his head furiously, only accentuating his tear-stained face. “ _No_ , we need to get Kili out, _now_. You can always hunt Dekir down later. You won’t have another chance to save your nephew’s life.”

He was right and they all knew it, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept. The urge to find Dekir and hunt him down, make him pay for hurting Thorin’s son and husband, for desecrating their marriage promise, flew like a wildfire through his veins. It made him sick to see the bruise on Bilbo’s face, the shredded braid, the blood soaking through Kili’s tunic. Dekir had hurt two of the people Thorin held dearer than anyone else, and he should not be allowed to live.

His indecision was only a moment, though it felt like eternity. “Legolas, if we get them out, can you lead them to safety?”

“The woods of Lorien are close,” Aragorn said, voice tight. “You could reach that without any trouble.”

Legolas nodded sharply even as Bilbo began to protest. “I’m not leaving without-“

“Yes you are,” Thorin said firmly. “I will _not_ let him breathe a moment longer than he deserves.”

“I _refuse_ to leave without you,” Bilbo insisted. “You’re either coming with us or I’m going back in with you, once Kili’s safe.”

“Argue _later_ ,” Nori yelled, and a moment later, arrows flew down upon them. Thorin immediately clutched Bilbo to him, shielding him. When the arrows stopped, a familiar voice issued a command, his white staff held high like a lantern.

“ _Run_!”

Thorin didn’t hesitate, simply moved after Gandalf, keeping Bilbo by his side. They ran through an archway and down a steep set of stairs that Legolas handled with ease, even with Kili in his arms. Another set of stairs to the right would take them out to the open, fully exposed, but Gandalf was already running to the left and jumping over a quick gap that led to the bottomless deep. It was easy enough for a man or elf, more difficult but doable for a dwarf, but harder still for a hobbit. Thorin clutched Bilbo to him and pushed off the edge, sending them both sailing through the air. Esmeralda’s sudden gasp of air was heard from behind him as he landed, but he didn’t dare look back. He kept his eyes on Gandalf ahead of them and his arms tight around Bilbo. His husband’s feet were pounding loudly beside him, not even caring if they  made a sound: a testament to his fear.

“Through the hall!” Gandalf shouted, pointing with his staff to the vastness ahead of them. “And quickly!”

Once before, Thorin would have wanted to stop, to gaze at the works his ancestors had done. This had been a place of refuge, once, to a city of dwarves, to his people. Khazad-dûm had been their stronghold, but here, beneath the mountain, it had also been a home.

Now it was just a prison, a tomb. He gritted his teeth and kept on, Gandalf’s staff the only light to guide them. He caught glimpses of tall spires up to the cavern ceiling, monuments that caught his eye and then passed by as a blur. He would have given anything to show Kili and Fili, to show Bilbo, what had once been a place of grandeur.

If he could escape now with the lives of his nephews and beloved, he’d count himself blessed.

An arrow landed right in front of Bilbo’s feet, dragging a cry of warning from his husband. “This way!” Thorin roared, and Gandalf immediately pulled them to the right and through a red-tinted hallway, flames seemingly everywhere. Arrows continued to rain down upon them from above. From behind him, Thorin heard the unmistakable sound of arrows being loosed, and death cries resounded from on high. A few bodies fell as Tauriel’s arrows found their targets.

A cracking sound was all the warning Thorin had before the floor gave way. “Move, move!” Aragorn yelled above the thunderous crumbling. Legolas made it safely to the other side, Kili still in his arms, but he refused to move any further, eyes frantically watching the others cross. Bofur and Esmeralda dove off to one side as the ground beneath them fell away, sliding down into an empty chasm. Ori began to slide down a broken slab before Dwalin and Nori caught him, hauling him back to safety.

Thorin’s right foot suddenly began to drop. “Thorin!” Fili shouted, and Thorin shoved Bilbo ahead of him to higher, safer ground. Bilbo’s fear-filled face disappeared from view as the rocks continued to give and Thorin continued to fall. Another group of rocks slid down beside him, and Thorin jumped over them to a larger slab, slanted but not falling. He scrambled to his feet and began running back up to the main floor.

Something hit him in the shoulder, and then all he could feel was _hot_. The sheer agony left him tumbling to the still shaking ground, fighting to breathe. He felt as if he were on fire and unable to move. Every muscle screamed, and his vision pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Voices, there were voices around him. Fili’s, Aragorn’s, Gandalf’s, Bilbo’s, Bilbo was screaming as if he were being murdered, he had to _move_ -

“One would have thought it would take more than a single iron bar to stop a king.”

Thorin slowly pushed himself up with his good arm, trembling from the exertion. Through his sweaty, tangled hair, he could see Dekir and Rutar standing before him, several of their thieves around them. With a heavy grunt Thorin let himself fall to the ground, freeing his arm to pull Orcrist out. Dekir reached forward and grabbed something. Thorin’s shoulder began to ache.

Then he twisted, and Thorin’s world went briefly black.

When he managed to come back to awareness, Dekir was stepping back, a long bar of iron in his hand, and Rutar was kicking Orcrist behind him. “Then again, you weakened yourself with a Halfling,” Dekir said. Thorin blinked through the tears of pain that were rolling down his face. “I tried to give you a chance to redeem yourself and save the line of Durin. Yet you allowed that _thing_ to live instead, to infect Erebor. And elves! Your youngest heir married an _elf_!” Dekir spit. “And you cast me, a pure-blooded dwarf, away. That is a sure sign indeed that Erebor does not belong in your hands.” He stepped forward, iron bar before him, and as he neared, Thorin could see the blood dripping from it.

He had to move. He had to get up, he had to fight back, he had to _move_. Bilbo’s scream echoed in his head, and his mind had no trouble imagining what could have caused it, especially with Dekir and Rutar right here in front of him. He pushed himself up on his good arm, swallowing back the cry of pain when it jostled his wound. If either of them had hurt a single curl on Bilbo’s head…

“And here endeth the tainted line of Durin,” Dekir said lowly, and Rutar came forward to take the metal bar.

Rutar suddenly lurched forward, gasping for air. Thorin and Dekir both watched as he jolted forward again, and this time, a shining blade pierced through the front of his chest. Rutar jerked once, then slowly fell off the blade as it was yanked out. Orcrist gleamed a bright and vibrant blue, even with the blood staining the blade, and behind it, Bilbo’s tear-streaked face bore nothing but _fury_. “Do _not_ touch my husband,” he snarled, both hands trembling but still holding tight around the hilt.

Dekir let out a scream of rage and grief and swung the iron bar at Bilbo. Bilbo ducked and brought Orcrist back up in a defensive move, but stumbled backwards at the sheer power Dekir put into his second swing. The blade was too big for Bilbo to hold, to wield, and unless Dekir struck near Bilbo’s hands, he’d have little chance of fending the dwarf off. Thorin struggled to get onto his knees and use his legs to his advantage instead of his arms. His shoulder throbbed, a heavy pain that seemed to go straight through his chest, and every breath he took only made it ache all the more. He’d heal, he’d had worse. But he had to move or Bilbo would fall under Dekir’s assault.

All around him now, Thorin could see the company fighting with the thieves and orcs on the various broken bits of ground. A few holes remained, but most of the floor seemed to have simply snapped into large pieces, sliding this way and that. Aragorn and Dwalin were leading the offense, Fili and Tauriel defending Legolas who still held his precious charge. Even Esmeralda was fighting back, a familiar blue blade in her hand. Bilbo had given her his blade, running defenseless to Thorin’s aid.

If ever Thorin could have seen physical proof of Bilbo’s love for him, it was this moment, now.

A heavy clang of blade and metal shoved Bilbo down onto a slanted slab of flooring, Orcrist dropping from his hands as he tumbled. Thorin didn’t even try to steady himself, once he was on his knees: he simply _pushed_ and threw himself over the ledge to where Bilbo was, Dekir already almost there. His feet stumbled, clumsy beneath him, and all he could feel and see was pain. An image of Bilbo, lifeless under Dekir’s hand, was all the incentive he needed to catch Orcrist with his good hand and swing.

The blow had been unexpected, if the look on Dekir’s face was anything to go by. He didn’t have a chance to examine it long, for Dekir’s head tumbled down and away from the body that fell at Thorin’s feet. Bilbo let out a horrified exclamation behind him, and Thorin glanced back in time to see Bilbo scrambling away from the head as it continued past him. It rolled until it reached a corner of stone, and Dekir’s head stopped, his eyes staring blankly at nothing.

The sounds of the battle above them seemed to pull Bilbo from his shock. He hurried to Thorin, and Thorin barely felt his husband’s welcome hands before he all but fell over. Somewhere, he was certain he could hear Bilbo’s frantic voice calling for him, but the wave of pain that washed over him took all of his concentration. He registered that he wasn’t on his face, that somehow Bilbo was holding him up, and that was all he could focus on. His shoulder was on fire again, agony making tears burn in his eyes. He felt as if he’d be sick, and his body wouldn’t stop shaking, the result of straining his injured body too much too soon. His vision narrowed until all he could see were distant pinpricks of light.

After several long moments of breathing and putting his stomach back where it belonged, Thorin could finally make out the world around him. He was down below the main floor, kneeling on slanted rock that led back up to the ongoing battle. Orcrist was tight in his good hand, the blade tip digging into the floor as a cane. Bilbo was in front of him, bruised and bloody and terrified, hands trembling against Thorin’s face. “-rin, Thorin, say something, _please_ -“

“M’all right,” he murmured, and even speaking hurt. “I’m…I’m all right.”

“You are _not_ ,” Bilbo snapped, his anger lost beneath his fear. “You’re white as a sheet and shaking, and…your shoulder…”

Thorin didn’t want to think about his shoulder. “Need to move,” he said. They needed to leave Moria behind. So far behind that in his old age, if he was blessed enough to reach it, he would never think of it again.

“Thorin!”

Dernwyn and Nori hurried down the slanted rock, eyes wide. “Dernwyn, your sash,” Bilbo ordered, and she didn’t hesitate, simply yanked it from her waist and moved to crouch at Thorin’s side. Thorin focused himself on Nori as they made a makeshift bandage. The thief’s gaze was focused intently behind them. After a moment, he met Thorin’s eyes, and he gave a low, approving nod. Thorin returned it. So Dekir was dead, then, and he had not imagined it. Good. Rutar, too, by Bilbo’s hand. His husband had taken a life.

It was more than Thorin could think of at the moment, especially as Dernwyn gave the sash a firm tightening that made his vision sputter out for a moment. It gave him a focused pain in a single place, however, and after he took a few deep breaths, he could stand. “Better?” Bilbo asked, standing with him.

“Enough,” Thorin said with a nod. “Where are the others?”

“Above, cleaning out the filth,” Nori said tightly. “Hadn’t heard from you or Bilbo in a bit, not since he got knocked over and you took a tumble.”

“How’s Kili?” Bilbo asked.

Dernwyn’s face said it all, but she spoke, saying, “Still breathing. Legolas has him.”

Neither were encouraging facts. Thorin took a step forward, ignoring how Dernwyn and Bilbo flanked him for a fall, then took another. By the time he made it back up the broken rock, the rest of the company was hurrying over to meet them. Dwalin was watching both him and Bilbo with worried eyes, not even trying to hide his concern. It had been bad enough losing Balin: losing anyone else would about destroy him. There was no mistaking the way Ori stayed beside him, as if suspecting the same thing.

“Thieves are dealt with,” Gimli said, shaking his head and sending his beard swaying. “Think it’s time we were leavin’.”

“Leaving is good, ver’ good,” a familiar voice slurred out, and Fili let out a cry, hurrying to Kili’s side. He looked wan and so small, so broken in Legolas’s arms, but he managed a half smile. Legolas looked as if he’d been gifted the very sun in the sky, gazing at Kili with open love and adoration and relief. Kili’s smile drifted over his husband, but it changed to a scowl when he looked at Bilbo, however, bewildering Thorin. “You din’ finish y’song,” he said, breath fading in and out.

“I did too,” Bilbo said firmly, but his relieved gaze betrayed his stern tone. “It’s actually how they found us. You’re the one who promised not to fall asleep.”

“Sorry,” Kili whispered. Legolas pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Kili let out a soft sigh. “But really, can we leave?”

A thunderous shaking of the cavern nearly sent everyone to their knees. A shrill scream reverberated through their heads, and it was a horrible sound that threatened to send fear into Thorin’s heart. “What in Mahal’s beard is that?” Nori asked.

“Is it her?” Kili asked, and he was looking to Bilbo. Thorin glanced over at his husband and found him nearly as pale as Kili. His eyes were round and gazing off somewhere else, as if to memory. He had the urge to suddenly take Bilbo by the shoulders and shake him until he returned.

Bilbo finally gave a slow nod. “It’s her,” he said, voice low. “I’d know that terrible shriek anywhere.”

“Who?” Bofur asked. He still clung to Esmeralda, though less so now that she had Sting in hand.

“Shelob,” Kili and Bilbo echoed, and Gandalf sucked in a sharp breath, even while Thorin’s sluggish mind still pulled the memories of haunting tales to the forefront.

“What is-“

“Nothing we need to fight,” Gandalf said over Éomund’s inquiry. “We must leave, and now!” And he turned and ran. Thorin tugged Bilbo away, and once his husband began to move, there was no stopping them. Legolas hurried towards the front, with Aragorn and Gandalf before him, still holding Kili. Tauriel slid behind Thorin, no doubt to cover the back of their company.

They hurried through the darkness, moving this way and that, down stairways and through hallways. Large rooms gave way to smaller corridors which gave way to vaulted ceilings and pillars at least ten dwarves wide. Gandalf’s staff shone ahead of them, guiding them, and Thorin fought not to stumble over broken floors and pieces of ceiling that had cracked and fallen. This was how he’d feared he would find Erebor, ten years ago. This was every nightmare concerning his people he’d ever had.

The shrieking echoed loudly behind them, perhaps closer than before. “Hurry!” Bilbo shouted, and the sheer panic in his voice made Thorin grit his teeth and move all the more. The sash Dernwyn had tied about his shoulder was still stopping the bleeding, hindering his ability to move his arm. If he had to fight, it would be with his left arm only.

“Does anyone actually _know_ the way out?” Nori asked when they turned down another small passageway.

“I do, yes,” Gandalf called back. “We are near to the East Gate, the gate which that leads over one of Moria’s greatest accomplishments.”

“The Bridge of Khazad-dûm,” Thorin murmured. Yes, the bridge would be a welcome sight if it still stood. Other bridges had been made to cover the large chasm, but none spanned so great a place as the bridge. He could only hope it still stood. It was their only way out.

 

They flew out of the passageway and into a large chamber – it looked to have been a marketplace once, Bilbo thought. It was empty now, not even wood remaining from the stalls. At least the floor was even, which helped his ankle. Every wrong step seemed to send it screaming in agony. It was bad enough that Thorin was faltering, though the dwarf was doing his best not to show it. But Bilbo knew what Thorin looked like in pain, and right now, his husband was in agony.

They would get to the East Gate. They would get out of this cursed place and they would be safe.

“Which way now?” Esmeralda shouted when Gandalf began to slow in his running. There were two doorways before them, both of them large and both leading down into darkness. “Gandalf!”

“I have no recollection of this place,” Gandalf murmured, and Bilbo felt terror seize his heart. “Aragorn and I will inspect them-“

The sound of Fili’s scream made even Kili yell and jerk in Legolas’s arms to return to his brother. As one the company whipped around and stared, and with Gandalf’s light, Bilbo saw the one thing he had been dreading.

Shelob.

She hadn’t changed much, over the years. Still the biggest spider he had ever seen. She towered over Fili whose legs were bound in silken webs. When she moved, her legs made a heavy slap against the stone, only emphasizing how large she was. Her pinchers were big enough to take a man’s head off with one snap, and when she leaned in to Fili, Bilbo knew she intended to do just that.

“Go, go!” Bilbo yelled at the others, pushing Éomund and Esmeralda towards the doorways. Fili swung with his sword and sent the massive spider scrambling back, hissing and chittering. She was going to kill him, eat him, and Bilbo pushed his own fears and terrors back and raced forward. He fumbled with Sting as Esmeralda shoved it back into his hands. With a heaved swing he came at her from the side, startling her. She shrieked at him, and when all her eyes moved to him, Bilbo couldn’t help the quaking in his legs.

“Remember me?” he called, his voice trembling. He held Sting up and watched the blade waver back and forth like a blade of grass in the wind. She tilted her head, appraising him. He could see it in her gaze as she moved her body towards him: she remembered him. Fili was scrambling away, with Tauriel and Dernwyn aiding him. Bilbo raised his voice to keep Shelob’s attention. “That’s right, the little fly that got away. You ate the other one who was with me, and I’d thank you for that, given that he was trying to kill me, if you hadn’t been trying to eat me too.”

She moved, darted forward so suddenly that Bilbo tripped backwards, landing hard on his back. He swung clumsily at her and felt his sword connect with one of her pinchers. She let out a scream that burst through his eardrums, and he wanted to run, wanted to hide, wanted to be anywhere except facing her again. She was terrible and real, no longer in his memory but right in front of him, and she was going to kill him. He could only hope the others had gotten Fili away to safety. She moved fast, all but pinning him beneath her, her lower body moving the stinger towards him in a burst of speed.

A loud roar resounded not a half moment later, and the sound of a blade flying through the air was all the warning he got before her stinger was falling to the ground. She shrieked and stumbled in pain, and then Thorin was right in front of him, Orcrist in his one good hand. Bilbo’s shield, his protector, standing between him and one of his worst nightmares. She struck out at him and Thorin made not a sound as he swung at her pinchers. Her legs moved to knock him over, but Thorin only moved his blade to tear them apart, if they came too close.

Hands pulled at him, and Bilbo glanced up as Esmeralda and Bofur pulled him to safety. Dwalin was wading into the fight with a roar of his own, Ori with the warhammer right behind him. Tauriel was sending arrows towards it, but none of them should have bothered.

With a loud shout Thorin ducked under her swinging head and jammed Orcrist upright. She faltered, green and black ooze pouring down from the wound. He shoved it higher and her legs crumpled. Dwalin and Ori pulled Thorin out as she began to waver, making a loud wailing sound. She stumbled against a pillar, making it crack, and Bilbo tracked the crooked line all the way up to the ceiling. A large piece of rock began to silently fall. “Thorin!” Bilbo shouted.

Even as she began to get her legs steady, even as Thorin stumbled back with Dwalin and Ori, the ceiling piece fell on top of her. Shelob hit the ground, legs splayed out to every side. One of them twitched several times in a grotesque fashion, then went still. Shelob was dead.

For a long moment, Bilbo could do nothing but stare. Her large eyes were all vacant, staring sightlessly at him, and he couldn’t keep back a shudder. She’d haunted his dreams many a time, Mablang’s fate becoming his instead, and yet she was here, dead at last. No more would she slip into his dreams.

He could dream about other things instead, like Thorin, Fili, and Kili dying at the base of Erebor.

A large hand caught him by the shoulder and pulled, causing him to stumble. Just as suddenly as he’d been pulled, however, he was steadied, and Aragorn continued to move him. “We need to go,” he said urgently. “Leave her behind forever, Bilbo.”

He intended to do just that. “Have they found the way out?” he asked, and Aragorn nodded. Already he could see the others following after Gandalf. “Then go,” Bilbo whispered, and he raced with Aragorn to catch up.

 

It was almost more than Dwalin could stomach. Dwarves turning against them, orcs spreading their filth through the once great mines of Moria, and giant spiders as tall as trees. If he slept at all in the nights ahead, he’d count himself lucky.

Mahal, if they got out of Moria _alive_ , he’d count himself blessed. Even if he was leaving part of his heart and kin behind. He gripped Thorin with one hand, Ori with the other, and pressed on through the darkness. Gandalf’s light shone ahead of them, winding through the passages, and finally, finally, they emerged into a large hall. This, he knew. This was familiar; dwarven craft was familiar as breathing. Balin had shown him great drawings as he’d told Dwalin of the history of their people, and he remembered having seen this great hall in those histories. The arches, the pillars, it was unmistakable. This was the Hall of the East Gate. The bridge was not that much farther.

Orcs continued to send arrows down after them, and the memory of an arrow piercing Balin’s heart nearly caused him to stumble. It was Ori who held him upright this time, and Thorin buffeted him. He simply wanted a chance to mourn, and he couldn’t do it, not here in this Mahal-forsaken hole. Tauriel continued to send arrows after them, borrowing now from Legolas’s quiver as hers was empty. Kili’s arrows would be awkward for her, given the arm length, but if it came down to it, she’d make do. Nori was trying to fling his blades as best he could, and Aragorn was cutting the arrows off when he had a chance to, Bilbo thankfully ahead of him.

But for all the orcs and various dwarves and men, they were simply too close now to cut off. Dwalin felt a small jolt of hope shoot through him for the first time since they’d entered Moria. They were honestly going to make it. “Left,” Gandalf ordered, and Dwalin could see it now, the long path ahead at the end of the hall that would take them down to the bridge. He pushed Thorin and Ori onward, Gimli, Bofur, and Esmeralda ahead of them. Fili stood in front, his legs still covered in random webbing, and with Dernwyn and Éomund beside him, they were helping Gandalf lead the way.

They were all there. And Dwalin swore he could even see the doorway they would need to take to get to the bridge. He could only hope the bridge still stood.

A low trembling sound made everything suddenly stop, and the deep growl that accompanied it left the thieves and orcs scrambling to get away. “That’s right, run!” Gimli crowed, raising his axe in triumph, but his joy fell when a fiery glow began to emerge from the far end of the hall behind them. With it came the trembling sound that rattled through Dwalin’s very bones. Whatever it was, it was large, unfriendly, and most certainly coming their way.

“What is that?” Éomund asked, his eyes wide.

Gandalf bowed his head, and Dwalin felt his heart seize. “No,” he murmured. It couldn’t be.

“It is a foul beast from the deep,” Gandalf said. His eyes were fixed on the glow that slowly crept closer. “One of great might and power, made of shadow and flame.”

“Durin’s Bane,” Thorin whispered in horror, and Bilbo moved beside his husband, watching him fearfully. Bilbo didn’t know, Dwalin realized. None of the others probably knew, save for perhaps a bedtime story heard in their youth. The histories had been where Dwalin had heard of it first, but it had always been a story, a tale.

But it was here, and it was real, and worse yet, it was getting closer.

Gandalf nodded once. “A Balrog,” he said, and Tauriel and Legolas both gave soft exclamations in their own tongue. “This is a foe beyond any of you.”

“But not beyond you, right Gandalf?” Esmeralda asked fearfully, her eyes darting between the glow and the wizard. When he didn’t respond, her face sank. “Gandalf?”

The wizard pulled in a deep breath. “Run!” he yelled, and Dwalin did just that. The left was no longer an option – putting them directly in the path of Durin’s Bane – so they continued straight ahead through the great archway and down another set of stairs. Thorin was flagging, and badly so, and Dwalin could feel his cousin leaning more on him with every step. Who knew how Bilbo’s ankle was, but Dwalin had to trust that Aragorn would keep him safe, as much as it pained him to think it. He was almost desperate in his need to see Bilbo safe and sound. That was _his_ hobbit, _his_ friend, back there, the first one who had stood beside him after laying Balin to rest and had offered words of comfort and sorrow. The first one who had cornered him after the cave-in years ago and told him it wasn’t his fault, the first one he’d seen in the darkness of Thranduil’s dungeon, and the first one who’d offered him a place to rest and food to eat after a long, tiring journey to the Shire.

Mahal help anyone who touched him. He was kin.

The orcs and other thieves were long gone, but the constant rumble of Durin’s Bane had turned into a sudden roar, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. “Go, go!” Legolas shouted, terror on his face, Kili wrapped so tightly in his arms Dwalin could barely see the lad. The elf still managed to jump with ease over a missing piece of the stairs, and on they followed. Down another flight of stairs, through another small hall, and Dwalin could feel the heat that crept up on them. It was bigger and faster than they were, and they’d be caught in no time.

Just as the cavern came into view, Thorin stumbled. Bilbo shouted for his husband, but Aragorn was there, catching Thorin on the other side. “The edge, watch the edge,” the man called behind him as even Nori nearly tripped. Between Dwalin and Aragorn, Thorin was all but carried down towards the cavern. Fili was leading the charge now, but sliding to a sudden stop. What?

“Go!” Dwalin shouted at him. “Fili, _go_!”

“This can’t be the bridge,” Fili said incredulously. Dwalin stopped at the edge and could only stare. “Is it?”

It was a narrow, crumbling thing, so thin in the middle that one footstep could be too wide. No, this wasn’t the bridge. This was one of the smaller bridges. Dwalin glanced around and found, down to the far left of them, the great bridge itself. The Bridge of Khazad-dûm. For a moment, he let himself look.

The next breath he took he used to nudge Fili forward. “We’re out of time,” he growled. “Just go. _Carefully_.”

Fili did. The bridge held. “As swiftly as you can,” Dwalin ordered, and Esmeralda crossed next, Tauriel right behind her. Bofur stared anxiously at them both until he was racing across, feet nearly slipping in the middle and causing everyone to hold their breaths. Legolas went next, Kili clenching his eyes shut and all but clinging to his husband. The others flew across in a dizzying run, and then it was just down to Aragorn, Thorin, and Dwalin.

“I can stand,” Thorin rasped. The ground shook, nearly sending them all to their knees. The heat was only getting worse.

“Can you stand and walk, is the question,” Dwalin said. Thorin nodded, lips tight and colorless, but he began to cross all the same. Dwalin watched him go, heart pounding in his chest, but finally Thorin was across and falling into Fili’s arms. One down. Dwalin swallowed hard and shoved Aragorn. With a shake of his head Aragorn crossed, and then Dwalin was racing after him, the entire room starting to tremble. The exit, where was the exit? Where were the gates?

The wall from the other side of the chasm began to give, and the ceiling began to drop pieces of rock down into the bottomless space beneath the bridge. Thank Mahal they weren’t over there anymore. “Go!” Dwalin shouted, but Esmeralda started going _back_. Dwalin caught her, but just barely. “What are you doing?”

“Bilbo!” she screamed, and Dwalin’s heart stopped.

It all seemed to happen at once. Bilbo, who hadn’t crossed – why hadn’t he been across with them? – was flying onto the bridge. The rock from the ceiling came down and shattered through the bridge, and Bilbo was left to stumble back and away from the emptiness. But he was on the wrong side of the bridge, and he’d barely glanced up at them when the wall of the doorway caved, and then there was nothing but the Balrog.

It was massive and terrifying, and never before had Dwalin shaken as he did then. Its wings were wide, wider than even those of the Eagles, and they were filled with flames. Its claws were massive, and when it moved forward, the entire cavern shook. Eyes of fire and death followed them all before narrowing down to Bilbo, and when it bellowed, flames fell from its mouth. Wide, thick horns sprouted from its head, and it looked like no other beast Dwalin had ever seen before. And when it pulled its large blade of fire forth, Dwalin knew he never wanted to see another like it again.

Their greed had done this. They had dug too deep and unearthed this terrible thing, and centuries later, they were paying the price. _Bilbo_ would pay the price.

There was nowhere for Bilbo to go, to run. The Balrog had him firmly pinned at the edge of the abyss, and even trying to run towards the Bridge would get him slaughtered. He was trapped. And he would die.

Dwalin only let go of Esmeralda to catch hold of Thorin, who all but threw himself at the edge of the bridge. “ _Bilbo!_ ” Thorin screamed, fighting Dwalin with everything he had. For someone who was so injured, Dwalin shouldn’t have had to struggle so hard to keep him back. He wouldn’t be any different, though, if it was Ori on the other side, facing his certain death.

Bilbo stayed completely motionless, staring straight up at the Balrog. It was moving closer now, stalking him, and it let out an angry sound that left Dwalin anxious to clap his hands over his ears. Thorin wasn’t fighting him anymore so much as he was clinging to Dwalin, and he could only watch as his king’s eyes filled with tears. “Bilbo, _no_ ,” he choked out, and Dwalin shut his eyes.

Thorin’s greatest nightmare, losing Bilbo, and they were all about to watch it happen.

He glanced up at his small friend, unable to help himself, and found Bilbo’s hand behind his back in a fist. Slowly he opened it into a cupped palm, and Dwalin hated himself further when he realized what it was. A motion, one Thorin had learned after the cave-in had left him temporarily deaf. And he knew the minute Thorin recognized it for what it was when his friend lunged forward again with an anguished cry, hands reaching helplessly for his husband.

 _I love you_.

Then there was nothing to do except watch the Balrog swing its arm down in an arc towards Bilbo.

There was a bright light, so bright that Dwalin had to turn away. When he looked back, the Balrog was roaring and backing away, Bilbo was _still standing_ , and in front of him, staff held high, was Gandalf. The power from the wizard almost seemed to create a wind, stirring his robes and hair, and for a moment, Dwalin felt afraid of Gandalf. What most of them tended to forget was that they called a white wizard a friend, one whom they bantered with and spoke to with ease and care.

He was a _white wizard_. And currently, he was holding back Durin’s Bane with only himself and his staff.

Never again was Dwalin going to say anything bad about him. Ever. Especially within earshot.

Bilbo, for his part, seemed frozen in place. “Go!” Gandalf commanded, his voice deep and loud, and when the Balrog roared and charged, Gandalf merely pushed it aside. “ _Now_!”

Bilbo took off running for the Bridge. “To the Bridge!” Aragorn shouted, as if they needed encouragement. But Thorin and Esmeralda were already halfway to the Bridge, and could barely be held back as Bilbo tore across the stone. His eyes were red and his face full of fear, and when he threw himself into Thorin’s arms, he shook and shook. But he was in one piece, he was _alive_ , and Dwalin could hardly believe it. Thorin kept whispering his husband’s name again and again into Bilbo’s curls, clutching at him until his knuckles were white. Esmeralda was clinging to Bofur, her own eyes brimming with tears.

“You shall not pass!”

All heads whipped to where Gandalf stood. The Balrog was trying to get past Gandalf now to where they stood, at the Bridge. “The exit, where’s the exit?” Ori asked, glancing around madly.

The Balrog tried once more, and Gandalf merely extended his staff. A gust of power pushed the Balrog back so swiftly that some of its flames were doused. Then they returned, and it growled, a low promise of pain. It pulled from its side a long and fiery whip, and it cracked it once, the sound echoing through the cavern.

Gandalf merely pulled his blade forward and held his ground. “Gandalf,” Bilbo choked out, but Thorin held him tight. Not that Bilbo seemed to be intent on moving back towards the Balrog.

“I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor,” Gandalf said, and his voice seemed to boom through the cavern. “The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow from whence you came! I will not allow you to pass.”

The Balrog roared and swung its whip, causing more than a few of them to duck out of sheer instinct. But Gandalf merely caught it with his blade and swung it away from him. It crashed into part of the wall and tore it down. “Mahal help us,” Nori whispered.

As much as Dwalin didn’t want to say it, it had to be done. “We need to leave, now.” He glanced at Nori and found the dwarf nodding grimly. “Find the exit.”

“We cannot leave Gandalf,” Aragorn said, and he pulled forth his blade. “Gandalf! I am with you!”

“And I with you!” Fili shouted, and they began to race back across the bridge.

A sharp cry was heard, and when Dwalin turned, Tauriel was falling. “ _Tauriel_!” Esmeralda screamed, and then they were all being besieged by arrows from orcs above. Aragorn and Fili stumbled backwards and began to swing at the arrows that fell down from above. Aragorn cut two out of the sky and caught Legolas’s bow to use as his own.

Little use to Tauriel. Dwalin hurried to her side, fearing that he would have to carry two arrow-felled through the mines before this nightmare was through. Wasn’t Balin enough? Wasn’t nearly losing Bilbo and Kili enough? Wasn’t Thorin’s injury enough?

When he reached her, she was gasping in pain, but the arrow was higher than her heart. Dwalin stared in stunned amazement. It was an injury that could kill, if left unattended, but she would live. _She would live_. “We need to get her out,” Gimli ordered, sounding much older than his age. He stood tall and strong, a leader when all around him needed aid. “Kili too. The door can’t be far from here; the Bridge was set near the East Gate.”

Fili swung another arrow down even as the Balrog roared once more. “We can’t leave Gandalf,” Dernwyn protested, but another bright light pulled their attention. Gandalf seemed even taller than before, flaring as brightly as he had at the top of Isengard ten years ago, and when he spoke, his voice rumbled like an avalanche.

“ _You shall not pass!_ ”

And then he swung his staff at the Balrog. The Balrog shied away from the light, stunned by it, and stumbled at the edge. With a roar of desperation it fought to stay on even ground, but it was too late. Whip and sword were swung with no avail, and the mighty beast began to fall. Dwalin stared at it, tracking its flames as it descended into the deep. It was gone. Durin’s Bane would haunt Moria no more.

Suddenly a flame extended from the darkness, reaching up and catching Gandalf by the leg. The whip. The wizard stumbled and fought to keep his balance, but he fell and clung to the edge of the broken bridge. The Balrog continued to fall, its whip no longer hanging onto Gandalf, but the damage was done.

Bilbo shot forward, and both Thorin and Aragorn strove to keep him back. “Gandalf!” Bilbo screamed, terror on his face. “ _Gandalf!_ ”

Suddenly orcs were racing towards them, fighting to get across the bridge, while men and dwarves above continued to fire down upon them. “Fly you fools!” Gandalf shouted, and they had no choice but to run. Bilbo kept shouting for Gandalf, but Thorin kept him held tight and dragged him along.

It was by sheer luck that Éomund saw the light and steered them onward up a ramp of stone and dirt. The doors were broken, but they led out to a bright and stony flat, and they were outside at last. Free of Moria and its curses.

But not free of the memories, the death and tragedy it had brought to them.

Dwalin slowly glanced around at their small company, his ears buzzing and catching no sound. Legolas looked devastated, and in his arms, Kili was quietly weeping into his husband’s tunic. Nori had Ori, and between them they were supporting Tauriel, whose face was as pale as a parchment. Fili had Dernwyn and Éomund in his arms, and they were drifting towards Legolas, and not one of their faces was dry. Bofur had Esmeralda in his arms, buffeting her from the mines behind them. Aragorn stood and stared off into the distance and at nothing at all, his face filled with grief. Gimli was glaring at where they’d come from, twisting the axe in his hands. He finally slid it onto his back and moved to where Tauriel was.

Thorin had Bilbo in his grasp and was gently pulling him away from the entrance. Bilbo was saying something, and then he tried to stumble away once more, but Thorin pulled him back, clinging to him as if he’d disappear. Bilbo finally fell into his husband and wept, and Thorin could only shut his eyes, his own tears trailing down. It was only when Dwalin tasted salt that he realized he, too, was crying, tears silently streaming down his face.

Balin and Gandalf, both lost to Moria. The daylight was all that was keeping the orcs from coming after them, and the bright, cheerful nature of the sun above left Dwalin feeling sick. It didn’t deserve to shine the way it did.

Something emerged from the gates, and Dwalin lifted his axes with a growl. Thorin shoved Bilbo behind him, and Aragorn and Gimli both came racing forward with their weapons. Then they all stopped in their tracks.

Because it was Gandalf before them. He wasn’t nearly as clean as he’d been earlier, and his robes were no longer perfectly white, but he was _alive_ , and Bilbo shot past Thorin to his friend. Gandalf knelt to embrace the hobbit, and he smiled when they parted. Esmeralda hurried over, and Gandalf offered her his embrace as well. “We saw you fall,” Aragorn whispered in wonder. “How are you here?”

“I didn’t fall,” Gandalf said. “Nearly. But I didn’t fall.”

“You do a lot of nearly fallin’,” Dwalin said, but it was all relief he felt. Balin’s loss alone had been hard enough to accept, but Gandalf would have made it that much worse. Yet he was alive.

“Far more than I’d prefer,” Gandalf agreed. His eyes roamed over the group, and he finally settled on Aragorn. “I believe we have enough wounded that we must seek immediate help,” he said, and Aragorn nodded.

“Lothlorien isn’t far. By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs.”

“Then to Lorien we go,” Thorin said. Aragorn gave a swift nod once more, and then they were moving on, leaving Moria far behind them.

And if Dwalin refused to look back, refused to think about anything except his husband ahead of him and his cousin who was leaning on Bilbo to walk, then it was his business and his only. Even if all he could hear was his brother speaking to him one last time.

_Take care, little brother. May the years between our next meeting be long._

He breathed in, swallowed back the tears he longed to shed, and moved their company onward.


	22. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company is welcomed into Lorien, and healing finally begins. Stories are exchanged, and finally, they may have the high ground in this battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has been fighting me for an age and a day. Apologies for how long it's taken me...
> 
> And here's where I'd like to give my standard disclaimer. There are going to be the random spelling errors here, the random grammatical issue, and I know this. I have no beta: I'm a writer/editor in RL for my job, so I nitpick and take it apart on my own, and I'm fairly ruthless. Still, the occasional mistake gets in there. I appreciate all comments telling me about any errors, but there's a difference between doing so in a manner of helping me and then just doing so to be critical. Constructive criticism is the welcome friend here! :)
> 
> I'm also not the greatest expert when it comes to Tolkien. As such, a section of this chapter was rewritten to focus more on a canon, which was pointed out by a faithful reader. Thank you for pointing it out kindly sweetie! I appreciate it.
> 
> As always, don't read the notes at the end until you've read the chapter unless you want to majorly spoil yourself for what happens in the chapter. Wouldn't recommend it.

The sun had nearly set when a shadow crossed over them. Tauriel still tried to stumble into a battle stance, ridiculous elf that she was, and Ori held her up as best he could. “Stay _still_ ,” he insisted.

“As we are being attacked,” she began, but Gandalf held up his staff.

“Peace, Tauriel. For we are with friends now.”

It was a sight that Ori would always remember with a thrill of adrenaline and victory. The once large shadow grew even more in size as it descended, and then the Eagle arrived, resting gently on the field beside them. Even all these years later, it was just as majestic as Ori recalled it having been. Balin had known of the history of the Eagles-

Ori paused and took a breath, then another. Helpless to do anything else, he found himself looking to his husband, who was supporting a faltering Thorin. But if Dwalin was remembering Balin, it wasn’t on his face, and Ori forced his own grief away. Balin had first been his mentor, then his older brother by marriage. Balin had been a friend, a dear one, and kin. He could only imagine how Dori would feel when they returned and told him, for they’d been dear friends.

“I’ve never seen an eagle of that size before,” Éomund murmured, staring in awe. Ori felt his lips turn up in a grin as he remembered the first time he’d seen the Eagles. Of course, it’d been as he’d fallen from a tree, but still, the majesty and awe had kicked in not a few moments later once he’d realized he was alive.

“The Great Eagles of Manwë are a proud warrior race,” Gandalf said, then began moving swiftly over to the eagle. “And personal friends of mine.”

“Yes, but what is he doing here?” Fili asked. “Gandalf, Lorien is the other way.”

“I called for aid,” Gandalf said. He glanced at the company, eyes appraising them all. “For though we are not far from Lorien, I fear that the thieves will strike farther than we can reach.”

Erebor. “He will fly, and swiftly, to the mountain, with our warning,” the wizard continued. “Someone must bear word to Erebor.”

Before anyone could say a thing, Dernwyn began moving towards the eagle. “Wait, _wait_ ,” Fili said, racing after her. He caught her by the arm, worry on his face. “Dernwyn-“

“I’m going back to Erebor, as requested,” she said, but the small grin on her face only lent to her teasing tone. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Fili pursed his lips. “I want you safe.”

“There _is_ nowhere safe,” Dernwyn said softly. “Haven’t you realized this yet? If I can get back to Erebor, I can keep the mountain safe. Someone needs to alert them, and it might as well be me. I doubt the Eagle will be able to bear anyone else, and you’re needed here.”

Fili looked as torn as Ori had ever seen him before, but finally the dwarf nodded. “Be safe,” he murmured.

She gave a quick smile and leaned forward, stealing a quick kiss from her husband. “You too,” she replied. Then she raced over to the Eagle. Gandalf spoke with her briefly, quiet words that no one save for the princess could hear, before helping her up onto the Eagle. Within moments she was in the air. The flapping of the Eagle’s wings were enough to push branches back, as if in a mighty gale. The shadow of the Eagle was soon all they could see, and then it was soaring far beyond their sight to Erebor.

Fili stared after them, even when they couldn’t be seen any more. “How much farther to Lothlorien?” Bofur asked, and when Ori turned, he was glancing worriedly at Bilbo. The hobbit was barely standing, blinking blearily at everything. Kili and Tauriel weren’t the only wounded ones they had: Thorin and Bilbo needed help, and quickly. All of them had small cuts and bruises to contend with, but those four were the worst.

His eyes quickly moved to Legolas, who held a still and silent Kili in his arms. “Nearer than before,” Legolas said in response to Bofur. He pursed his lips and tightened his grip even more. “We still must hurry.”

“I could walk,” Tauriel breathed out, but she was faltering even more than before. Enough that Ori wasn’t certain he and Nori would be enough to carry her. His brother looked worried, supporting Tauriel’s middle as best he could.

Then Éomund was there, taking Nori’s place. “And we will help you,” he said. He looked so much like his father that for a moment, Ori thought he was back in Rohan, with Thengel and Fulgram there before him.

“Let us keep moving,” Gandalf said, already leading the way once more. “And a bit more swiftly, if we can. The night is coming on, and I will not rest until we reach the treeline.”

Before Bilbo could move, Ori watched as Aragorn swept him up and began to carry him. Bilbo didn’t offer any resistance, which was far more worrying than anything else. Even in his own state, Thorin kept his eyes on his husband, tense and anxious. But Aragorn held him tenderly, keeping his friend close, and Bilbo finally shut his eyes, too tired to do anything else.

They all needed rest and a place to recover from the horrors of Moria. And, a place to actually put together just _what_ had happened in a little over a day.

Ori caught a firmer grip on Tauriel’s arm against his shoulder and kept going.

Not long after the stars began to emerge, they reached the trees. They moved in, almost running, and it seemed like a collective sigh came out of the company once they’d made it in. Safe, _finally_. “How much farther until we reach the woods of the Lady?” Dwalin asked.

Gandalf began to answer, but everything came to a halt when Fili suddenly found an arrow tip mere inches from his nose. Everyone froze, and Ori suddenly realized how helpless they were. Only Gimli, Gandalf, Bofur, Esmeralda, and Nori had their hands free now, everyone else too busy supporting another. They wouldn’t come out of this attack without more injured, and someone would fall again.

But it was a familiar face that emerged from the woods behind the arrow, and never before had Ori been so ecstatic to see an elf before in his life. “Haldir,” Aragorn breathed in relief. In his arms, Bilbo didn’t so much as stir.

Haldir didn’t look nearly as relieved as they were. “We have been searching for you for three days now,” the elf said. He dropped his bow and arrow from Fili and used one hand to give a wave. All around them, Ori could now see multiple other archers, all aimed at the company. As one they lowered their aims, yet still remained wary. Not at the company, no, but at the darkening plains behind them. Ori couldn’t help but glance behind him, but there was nothing there. Not that it was easy to see, in the darkness of the oncoming night.

Mahal, he wanted to sit down so badly.

“We have wounded,” Legolas said, his voice tight. Haldir glanced to him, and his eyes immediately widened upon seeing Kili. Quick as a dart his gaze roamed over them all, resting for a half moment longer on Bilbo. They’d never met, Ori realized. Bilbo had never had a chance to meet Haldir.

“Questions will come later,” Haldir said. He turned swiftly, bright hair somehow still shining in the night. It made it easy to follow him, that much was certain. He gave a sharp order in Sindarin, and the elves moved to flank them as they marched on.

“Allow me,” a quiet voice said from beside Ori, startling him. It was an elf, much taller than he was, and he gestured again towards Tauriel. Oh, yes, that would work out much better. Ori carefully slipped her arm over to the elf, and the elf’s support was enough to pull her nearly upright, her feet still stumbling beneath her.

An elf offered to help with Thorin, but Dwalin gave him a short shake of his head. The elf nodded, no disgruntlement on his face, and immediately raised his bow to protect them instead. It was so much different than the last time they’d stumbled into elves in the woods, ten years ago, and Ori was so thankful that this was Lothlorien. Here, the Lady of the Woods would keep them safe. Here, they were welcomed as friends.

Ori lost track of time, too focused on following after Haldir as he darted through the trees. Suddenly they were standing near different trees, taller trees, trees he remembered from so long ago. Platforms and arches ascended skyward, and it all looked so different in the night. In the daylight, it had been impressive, but at night, it all looked as if it glowed. It left a peace inside of him, peace he hadn’t felt in what seemed like years.

Even as they stepped into a clearing, elves descended and hurried towards them, and in the front was the Lady herself. She looked pensive and worried, no smile on her face now. She ghosted towards Tauriel first, then spoke swift Sindarin to two elves, who immediately took her away. Legolas stood anxiously, Kili in his arms, and she moved to him next. She spoke quietly under her breath to Legolas, causing him to shut his eyes tightly. He bowed his head, and Ori watched as his arms loosened their hold for the first time in hours. She stepped aside and let four more elves carefully take Kili away. Fili stared after them, tense, afraid.

“He will heal,” she assured them all. “You did well in keeping him safe until you had reached us.” She moved silently over the grass to Thorin, and her gaze was dark and deep. “I only wish you had found better tidings amongst the halls of your kin,” she murmured. “May you find them here, Thorin, son of Thrain.”

“My Lady,” Aragorn said softly, and when she turned, he gestured towards Bilbo in his arms, who was finally stirring. The Lady immediately swept over to him, and her gaze was haunted. Thorin made to step forward to follow, eyes also on Bilbo, but one wrong step left him hissing in pain.

She paused, hand moving to brush hair from Bilbo’s face. “There is more healing needed here,” she said to the elves behind her. “See to King Thorin now, before the wound grows ill. Yet I would have you bring nourishment and soft beds for the others as well. For not all wounds show visibly above the surface.” She slowly let her eyes roam over them before they rested on Dwalin, and there was a kindness in her gaze that made Ori’s eyes fill. Dwalin said nothing, but he finally dropped his head, her sympathy too much for him to handle.

“Galadriel?”

The soft murmur from Bilbo was perhaps one of the most hope-inspiring things Ori had heard in his life. Thorin had barely so much as taken another step towards Bilbo when the Lady carefully took the hobbit into her arms, cradling him as a mother cradled her child. “You are safe here, Bilbo of Erebor, Child of the East and West,” she told him. “You are all safe.”

With Bilbo in her arms, and Thorin moving to step beside her, she moved through the archways and up several platforms. Elves followed behind, keeping a careful eye on Thorin lest he fall. What they didn’t know was that Thorin would keep himself standing upright and moving without any pause, now that he had a purpose. Bilbo was awake, Bilbo was there, and that, that Thorin would always march for.

The others were slowly moved forward by gentle hands and kind words from the elves. Ori moved to stand beside Dwalin and finally took his hand after long, long hours without it. Dwalin squeezed it tightly, and when he turned to glance at him, Ori gave him a soft smile. “It’s all right, now,” Ori promised. “We’ll be all right.”

It was a fool’s promise, Dori would have told him. Even though it was the sort of promise that Dori had made to him many times as a child, when things had gotten rough. Nori had promised it to him quite a few times, too. Ori’d been too smart to not know the truth, that it was just comforting words to blanket against a horrible reality.

But they’d been a comfort all the same, and right now, Dwalin needed all the comfort the world could give him.

Dwalin’s eyes were brimming with tears, and Ori finally disregarded the others entirely to focus solely on his husband. “Dwalin,” he murmured helplessly, and Dwalin shut his eyes, spilling tears out over his cheeks.

He’d seen Dwalin angry, ferocious, anxious, worried, joyful, laughing uproariously, but he’d never truly seen him so filled with despair and pain before. Not like this. It was discomfiting, to see his noble and loyal warrior brought so low. And the worst of it all was that there was nothing he could do.

Balin was dead. He’d been left behind in the dark of Moria, there to stay in his small, unguarded, nameless tomb.

Slowly Ori brought his hands up to brush tears away. His knitted gloves were frayed and torn, completely beyond repair, yet were still soft enough that he hoped they wouldn’t tear at the scratches across Dwalin’s face. His husband’s own hands came up and caught on Ori’s arms, fingers trembling as they moved up and down his skin. Feeling for life, assuring himself of it.

With both hands Ori cupped his husband’s face and brought his forehead down to press against Ori’s. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured. “Dwalin, I’m so sorry.”

And there, in the middle of Lothlorien, in the glow and quiet, Dwalin finally broke and grieved openly for his brother. Ori held him through it all, his own eyes filling with tears he was helpless to hold back.

Neither saw the elves who watched with sympathy and shared pain in their breast, knowing the grief of loss. Neither saw the wizard who paused on the platform, feeling a similar pain in his heart as he watched them grieve.

 

The shoulder barely hurt at all now, so adept were the elves at their healing. Yet still they refused to let Thorin move from his healing bed.

Perhaps because he could’ve sworn there were three elves aiding him when there were, in fact, only two.

“Rest,” one of the elves insisted. “Master Thorin, you _must_ rest.”

“Let me rest beside my husband,” he asked, tongue heavy. Whatever tea they had given him, it had dulled his pain enough for them to apply medicine and some sort of pain removing paste, but it had also taken his speech with it. He pushed past the fog in his mind and tried again. “Please, just, just let me rest beside Bilbo.”

“When he is no longer being tended to,” the second elf said. She sounded as if she’d said it before, in the careful way she drew out her words. He would’ve been affronted if she hadn’t been bandaging his arm to his chest and promising him Bilbo. “You have both seen much harm. You will both be placed together.”

They left shortly after that, leaving him on the bed, gazing up into the gently sloping roof of the room. The platform seemed to rise above him to meet in the middle, deft patterns flowing through the air like silk webs. He knew if he were to touch them, they would be as hard as iron, yet smooth and cool to his skin.

That was if he could reach them, and right now, until the last of the tea wore off, he wouldn’t be able to do much of anything.

A soft sound, like fabric being moved, caught his ear, and he managed to raise his head. The curtain leading to his room was slowly being inched away by someone he knew all too well. Thorin pushed himself up with his good arm as his husband carefully made his way into the room. “Bilbo-“

“Shhh!” Bilbo hissed, putting his finger to his lips. His other hand was wrapped tightly around a branch that he was walking with. A quick cane, no doubt given to him by the elves, and it made Thorin’s chest ache. The ankle. In all the nonsense with Dekir and Rutar, he’d completely forgotten about the ankle. And Bilbo had been running on it all through Moria, all through the uneven ground and rocks as they’d made their way to Lothlorien-

“I barely got past them; they find me, they’ll put me right back into my room,” Bilbo was saying. He shook his head. “As if I were some wayfaring child in need of a nap. Honestly.”

If he’d had the energy, Thorin would’ve chuckled at the indignation on his husband’s face. “They said we could rest together, once you had been seen to,” he said, his words still slurring a little. He took the time to examine the rest of Bilbo. The bruise on his cheek was spreading and darkening, but the cut had healed, and it looked to shine, as if a healing paste had been applied to it. His ankle was wrapped in a bulky way so as to not be moved at all. He could still see red skin above the wrappings and could only imagine how badly the ankle had to look. There were a few other scratches and small bruises, and the ends of his hair looked singed from the Balrog. Thorin shut his eyes at the memory and forced himself to breathe.

_Unable to go any further, Dwalin holding him tight, Bilbo out of his reach, beyond his aid, and his hand, his hand behind him, a fist opening to an open palm, his love for Thorin one last time-_

A soft touch to his good arm let him escape from the horrible memory. Bilbo stood beside his bed, watching him with knowing eyes. Thorin took a deep breath and began to speak, but Bilbo shook his head. “Not now,” he said quietly. “We’ve both spoken to each other and that’s that, as far as I’m concerned. You love me, I love you. Anything else really doesn’t matter, does it?”

Thorin began to protest that sweeping it under the rug wasn’t anywhere close to healthy, then stopped. Bilbo wasn’t pushing it away because he didn’t want to deal with it. Bilbo simply said that it didn’t matter, because they’d both faced their fears, of a sort. They’d both nearly lost each other in Moria. Their worst fear, and yet they still stood, side by side.

They’d spoken enough and already forgiven one another. There was truly no more need for words.

Bilbo began climbing up onto the bed, and Thorin helped him as best he could with his free arm. The cane Thorin made certain to place within reach, but Bilbo wasn’t going to be getting down anytime soon. He’d just gotten his husband back, he wasn’t about to let him wander off again. Not that he thought for a minute that Bilbo would be leaving any time soon, given that his husband had purposefully ducked from the elves in order to find him.

It almost brought a smile to his lips. He let himself look Bilbo over again, his eyes drifting over the wounds to instead see the whole beneath it: Bilbo, alive. His husband, his beloved, was alive. Somehow, all they’d lost was Balin. Perhaps Kili and Tauriel, but he had to hope that the elves could heal them. Balin had been bad enough.

How Bilbo managed to read his mind, he would never know, but Bilbo sat up on his knees beside him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Balin, I know-“

Thorin swallowed and reached for Bilbo, hand coming up to wrap around his neck to feel the pulse. Truthfully, he’d tried to think so little of his cousin, wrapping himself up in the fear of losing Bilbo and Kili. But now the grief that washed over him was like being buried in a rockslide again, cutting off his air and leaving him numb.

Fingers moved up his shoulders to his face, trailing lightly over his cheeks, brushing away stray tears. Bilbo’s forehead came to rest against his, a firm assurance that he was there and not going anywhere. “I know,” Bilbo murmured. “I know.”

They sat for some time, Thorin in his silent grief, Bilbo holding fast to him. When he was finally able to breathe again, Thorin began to move away and found his hand brushing against frayed hair. Bilbo froze, and Thorin finally let himself truly examine the other thing that had left his heart grieving and his temper flaring.

A few, small strands were still woven together near the top of his ear, but they were slowly sliding apart as time went on. Thorin gently brushed his thumb over them, more memories assaulting him. Putting the braid in Bilbo’s hair, the bead he’d worked and labored over in the forge, the one thing Bilbo had had to cling to time and time again when he’d needed comfort. He had always found it in Thorin’s love, in the physical manifestation of their promise.

And Thorin had nearly destroyed with words what Dekir had taken with his blade. Guilt left his heart twisting in his chest. He’d all but accused Bilbo of no longer holding to their vows. He hadn’t meant it, what he’d said, and the terrible feeling in his breast finally brought his voice out. “I know you have never forsaken the vows we made to one another, I should not have said-“

“Here,” Bilbo interrupted, and handed him something small and fine. It was the remnant of the braid in his hand, and Thorin could only stare at him, stunned.

“He…gave it back to me.” Bilbo’s throat convulsed for a moment, but then he held himself upright and set it in Thorin’s hand. The bead was still there, in need of a good polishing, but otherwise all right. The hair was bloodied on one side, and was no longer any good. Most of it was still braided. The tie, too, at the end of the braid, was still in one piece.

With his one good hand Thorin slowly took the tie off and removed the bead. “I cannot braid it back in with just my one hand,” he said, his voice low. “I will need your help.”

In response, Bilbo turned his head and moved in closer. Thorin handed him the bead, their fingers brushing, and then began to pull apart strands as best he could.

Between his hand and Bilbo’s, the braid began to form again. Thorin managed to weave back in the severed strands, adding them to longer, unmarred hairs that went down near to Bilbo’s chin. The process was slow, but every strand he moved back into place seemed to settle something inside of him. He moved silently, not a word spoken between them. When he glanced at Bilbo, his husband’s eyes were closed, and tears were sliding down his cheeks.

Not just settling something inside of Thorin. He was helping Bilbo heal, too.

When he reached the end of the braid, Bilbo offered the bead up to him. With Bilbo holding the strand, Thorin was able to slide the bead on, and then it was just a matter of tying it off while Bilbo kept the hair in place. Then it was done, and there was something so _right_ about seeing the braid back in Bilbo’s hair.

Bilbo’s eyes were red, but there were no more tears being shed. He leaned in instead, and Thorin caught his lips with a silent fervor, needing this, needing _him_. It felt as if he’d been married again, their vows renewed. He was Bilbo’s, and Bilbo was his. He brushed his lips with Bilbo’s again and again until he could no longer tell whose breath belonged to which one of them. His lips felt hot and tender, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself away, not when Bilbo was right there, when Bilbo’s mouth was red and full of life and so very kissable.

“Husband,” Bilbo whispered when they parted.

Thorin let out a sigh and felt his world slide back into place. “Beloved,” he murmured. “My beloved.”

When an elf came to check on Thorin, he found his missing patient with him. Both were curled around the other on the healing bed, asleep and resting at last, and he closed the curtain at the door and left them alone.

 

“He’ll be all right,” Bofur promised. Not that Fili was listening to him at the moment. The dwarf was pacing up and down the hallway, looking like a predator in a cage. They had all tried to reach him, to offer words of comfort, but they’d been shrugged off. One of these times, like the caged animal, one of them was going to get too close, and then they were going to get their hand bitten off. Or their head.

Bilbo would’ve helped. Bilbo would’ve known the right thing to say. But right now, Bilbo was off in a room of healing, much like Thorin, who was also being seen to. Tauriel had had to be carried into her room, her weakness hitting her all at once. And Kili had been carefully but quickly brought to his own room, and they hadn’t been allowed in.

Balin would’ve known what to do, what to say.

Bofur slowly tugged his hat over his head, willing the burn in his eyes away. He hadn’t been as close to Balin as the others, but Balin had been a friend, had become kin on the journey to Erebor and over the years. He’d been like a cousin, or a much older brother. And now he was gone.

When they’d left Erebor, none of them had anticipated seeing such death and pain. Yet they'd been dealt both in spades.

Beside him, Esmeralda sat silently, worrying the edge of her skirt between her fingers. She had to be thinking of Tauriel, of her cousin, and as banged up as Bilbo was, he was still better off than the elf was. His ankle was mangled, his cheek bruised and badly cut, but in the end, he would heal. After a good rest and some warm food, Bilbo would heal.

Tauriel…might not.

Carefully Bofur rested a hand on her shoulder, not certain how she would take the comfort. She surprised him by removing her hands from her skirt and reaching up to take his hand in hers. He swallowed hard and moved so their hands were between them. She was warm and soft and strong in her grasp, holding as tightly to him as he was to her.

After a moment, she spoke. “I’m sorry, about Balin,” she murmured, and Bofur gave a jerky nod. He was almost glad Dwalin and Ori weren’t here yet. They would be, soon enough. But he was selfishly glad they were elsewhere at the moment, all the same.

Legolas still stood in the corner, where he’d been all but placed by Gimli. The young dwarf had muttered something about “leaning against a tree” and had nudged and gently pushed until Legolas was leaning against one of the bigger trees in their room. Legolas had managed a small smile for him before he’d bowed his head, hair hanging to cover up his fear. Kili wasn’t exactly safe yet, either.

Bofur was starting to realize why Fili was going mad.

“There’s been no word, then?”

It was like a magic spell, hearing Bilbo’s voice and seeing him with Thorin. Fili raced to his uncles, who, despite barely being on their feet, still took him into their arms. Gimli roused and gave his own cheers, and Esmeralda hurried to her cousin’s side, embracing him as best she was able with his leaning on a cane. It hurt, to see him dependent on a cane again, after barely witnessing it since Mordor, but better he heal properly.

Thorin left Fili and Esmeralda with Nori, Gimli, and Bilbo, then made his way to Legolas. He didn’t say a thing, simply took the elf into his arms. For the first time since Bofur had met him, Legolas looked small. Somehow, he managed to tuck himself into Thorin’s arms, burying his face in his shoulder. Thorin murmured soft words that no one save for Legolas could hear. Just as well: they weren’t for anyone but the elf.

Ten years ago, if someone’d asked Bofur if Thorin would embrace an elf, willingly, Bofur would’ve laughed himself sick and asked what they’d been drinking. Now, though, to see Thorin holding Legolas left him feeling relieved, for no one else could’ve soothed the elf save for Tauriel, who was injured, or Fili, who was just as lost as Legolas.

Or Kili. But that went without saying.

When Legolas and Thorin parted, the elf stood taller than he had before. His gaze looked a little less haunted, and he graced Thorin with a stronger smile. “You are right,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

Thorin gave him a nod and clapped him on the arm. Aragorn entered then, Gandalf right behind him. The man’s face brightened considerably upon seeing Bilbo and Thorin, and trailing behind him was Éomund, looking as out of place as Bofur had ever seen him before. Bofur finally rose from his seat and made his way to the young man. “You all right?" he asked.

Éomund gave a nod, but he didn’t look as if he agreed with himself. Before Bofur could ask, however, the young man said, “I had always wondered how someone could be lost so swiftly, as my father was. I knew the danger of battle. I just didn’t know its ferocity, its swiftness, its lack of discrimination to whom it cuts down.” He rubbed the back of his head, looking a little sheepish. “Perhaps I’m young, still.”

This conversation would be better suited for Thorin, or Aragorn, not Bofur. But Bofur was all the lad had, so the miner patted him on the arm. “No one really understands death until it strikes them,” he said as kindly as he could. “Has nothin’ to do with age. You didn’t stand to gawk at it, you kept movin’, and that helped us all move, too. You’re allowed to stop and think about it later. You’re allowed to be baffled by it, even feel helpless a bit. That’s the mark of someone who’s full grown, if you can accept the truth of battle and death.” And because it was true, he added quietly, “Your father’d be right proud of you.”

Éomund stared at him for a long moment, and his eyes glistened. Then he blinked and it was gone, and he clapped Bofur’s hand with his own. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “That…thank you.”

Bofur gave him a wink and a nod and left him be. He found Esmeralda also staring at him, and Bofur was surprised to see the admiration in her eyes. His cheeks went a little hot at the thought that she’d heard him talking and somehow found it a worthy sort of thing. His life had certainly been easier as just a miner and toymaker.

Hadn’t been nearly as fulfilling or fun, though.

Dwalin and Ori arrived at last, and no one spoke of the grief that hung to the warrior in such a visible, obvious manner. Bilbo moved to embrace him, however, and after that, they all crowded him as best they could. Esmeralda stoutly pushed her way in front of Gimli for a chance to embrace him, and Dwalin managed a quick grin for her, touched by her determination. Bofur was fairly certain his proud grin went from one ear to another. That was his Esmeralda, all right.

Gandalf cleared his throat at last, catching the attention of all. “As we were separated, our paths and stories will be different,” he said. He pinned Bilbo under his gaze, but it was a kind look, and he offered the hobbit a smile. “Ours led to the discovery of more thieves then we had anticipated, all marching to the North Gate. Dekir and Rutar we also found-“

“And good riddance,” Fili said viciously. Bofur gave a firm nod of agreement.

Gandalf allowed them the moment before continuing. “But that was truly all we found. I had hoped, my dear Bilbo, you would hold more answers for us, especially pertaining to the mysterious ‘she’ they continued to mention.”

“Caila,” Bilbo said softly. He sat down beside Thorin on the bench. “Her name is Caila. She’s half dwarf, half elf.”

Nori made a strangled sound. “And Dekir was willing to follow her?”

“She denounced the elven side, called herself a pure, true dwarf,” Bilbo said. “Her father was an elf. She mentioned being cast out for her mixed blood, which is where Dekir found her: in the towns of men.”

Gandalf began to stroke his beard. “Her name is not known to me,” he said slowly. “Nor have I heard of a union of dwarf and elf that produced a child, whether the union was a joyous or bitter one.”

“I have,” Legolas said, surprising everyone. “An elf of my father’s forests met a dwarf in the northern mountains and said he’d fallen in love with her. He held no high rank, so it was rumored that he left as often as he could to be with her. I think it was said that he fell in a fight with the spiders. Perhaps orcs, which are many near that stretch of mountains.” He shook his head. “If there had ever been an account of a child, no matter whether the mother had been a dwarf or not, she would have been cared for. Even as lost in darkness as my father was, he would have done his best to aid her. But word of her never reached us.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Gandalf said gently. “She is young, then. And what of her purpose?”

Bilbo paused, glancing sideways at Thorin for a quick moment that left most of them bewildered, before speaking. “She…she’s looking for a ring. She thinks it’s in the Treasury.”

“A ring?”

All heads whipped to the doorway. “ _Kee_!” Fili shouted, racing to his brother, and Bofur could barely believe his eyes. But there he stood, hand carefully placed over his middle, pale and shaking, but still somehow standing on his own two feet.

Then from behind him, Bofur could see the Lady herself, and it became obvious just _how_ he was standing. “Couldn’t just stay in bed when you’re all out here,” Kili joked. Fili held him as if he were made of cracked glass and looked to be barely restraining himself from wrapping his brother up tight in his arms. Thorin couldn’t be stopped, and he held them both with his one good arm, somehow, and Bofur took a deep, relieved breath. The picture finally completed itself when Bilbo made his way over and abandoned his cane to hold tight to his nephew. Kili looked to be holding on just as fervently to Bilbo, gaze desperate and relieved as he looked his uncle up and down, and Bofur suddenly didn’t quite want to hear their side of the story.

“A ring,” Gandalf said at last, when the Durins had parted. Kili began to make his way into the room, and suddenly Legolas was there, a careful arm around his husband. Legolas’s eyes were bright and shining, and his smile was broad. Kili beamed up at him, and it was so good to see them as they should be: happy, content, filled with joy.

Kili made an ‘o’ with his mouth. “Oh, the ring of power,” he said, “that’s where you are in the tale.”

All of them paused. “A ring of power?” Aragorn managed, finding his voice first. Thorin stared at Bilbo, but Bilbo was very carefully looking to his youngest nephew. Mahal, no wonder Bilbo had been cautious when looking at Thorin.

If Bilbo thought there was a ring of power in the Treasury, then he had to think that Thorin knew about it. Perhaps that it was in one of the vaults, like the Arkenstone. That Thorin hadn’t told him-

“Seven were gifted to the dwarves,” the Lady Galadriel said, speaking at last. She carefully helped Legolas bring Kili to a bench, where he was soon crowded by his husband and his brother. After smiling at them all, she stepped into the middle of the room. She still felt like sunlight after a long, dark day of mining, or the first sip of cold water when you were so thirsty you forgot what a drink felt like. Her hair still looked like spun gold, and when she smiled, Bofur felt like he’d smile back and never stop. She still felt like _peace_.

She held up her hand, and Bofur peered at whatever it was that glistened upon her finger. “Three to the elves,” she continued. “Nine to mortal men. Then, the One Ring, which is now destroyed.” She smiled at Bilbo, and he gave a weary smile back. “The mortal men were cursed with their rings to become Sauron’s slaves, the Ringwraiths.”

“The Nazgûl,” Thorin said quietly. She nodded.

“I am a ringbearer, and I still bear mine. I am one of the three. But the seven that were given to the dwarves, they have been scattered to the winds. Sauron held several in his grasp. Others are lost forever. Yet one remained with the line of Durin.”

“Wait, no, not lost forever,” Kili protested. “She said she had six of them.”

“She said she needed the seventh, and then she would wield power over all the dwarves,” Bilbo said when Kili paused to take a deep breath, wincing as he did so. “She would prove herself a true dwarf with the rings. That’s why she wanted into the Treasury.”

The Lady’s smile fell. “It is not so. For those rings have been lost. She cannot have all six, it is impossible. And, even if they were all held together by one being, they would not hold power over anyone, and would not give her the ability to do so. Only one ring could do that, and it has been removed forever.” She moved her gaze to Thorin. “Does the ring of the line of Durin reside in the Treasury of Erebor?” she asked, but she sounded as if she already knew the answer.

“No,” Thorin said firmly. Bofur watched as Bilbo’s shoulders slumped a little in relief, and Thorin wrapped his arm around his husband. “The ring was with my father, and was lost with him. Though a wizard seemed to know how to find relics gifted only to my father.” He swung a glare in Gandalf’s direction.

The wizard held his ground. “They were gifted to me to gift to _you_. The ring was not amongst the things given to me, I can assure you of that. The ring is lost. And even if this Caila held all seven rings, she would not have the power she craves.”

Even with both Gandalf and the Lady Galadriel saying essentially the same thing, Bofur still narrowed his gaze. “Are you sure? ‘Cause one little ring managed to throw the entire earth into darkness. Imagine what seven of ‘em would do.”

“They hold no power of their own,” the Lady said once more. Her eyes dropped, and she suddenly appeared so old and weary that Bofur wanted to offer her a tea, or a biscuit, or something to chase the shadows out of her eyes.

Mahal, he was turning into a hobbit.

“Galadriel?” Bilbo said, suddenly and quietly, as if sensing something more terrible than before was about to be told.

“Did she say anything more to you?” the Lady asked, her voice no more than a breath. “Were there no other words she offered to you?”

“Just the rings being what she wanted,” Bilbo said, and in his lap, his hands were clenched into the tightest of fists. “But if the rings held no power, she would’ve had to know that, right?”

Gandalf, too, looked to be bracing for something more, but there was a resigned look about him, as if he had tried his hardest to avoid it and could not escape his fate. Aragorn stepped forward, as if moved by an unseen force. Thorin kept his gaze upon the Lady but his jaw was set to take the blow. The whole room waited.

The Lady raised her gaze not to them, but to the empty doorway. “She wanted something else,” she said quietly. “Something much greater.”

Before anyone could say anything, Haldir appeared in the doorway. “He is awake, but barely,” he said. “My lady, your help would be invaluable.”

“I ask that you take Legolas,” she said. “I have other matters I must attend to. He may also see to his ailing kin.”

Legolas looked completely lost. “Who?” Fili said at last. “Who’s awake?”

Haldir’s face was grim. “It is how we knew to search for you, several days ago. He told us that we were to find you. Bard of Dale is here, grievously injured.”

And before Bofur could even fathom those words, Haldir continued, “He told us that his city and people have been taken captive. As has Erebor.”

 

The mountain lay before her, so close that she swore she could touch it. All but bursting with the urge to get back inside the mountain and do _something_ , Dernwyn leaned forward on the Eagle, hands doing their best to not clutch at feathers. It wouldn’t do well to anger her ride, as tireless as he had been the past day. Not when they were so close.

The Eagle moved to swoop to the ground, but now that they were close enough, Dernwyn could see her balcony, and the doors were open wide to bring in sunlight and fresh air. Inspired, she called over the wind, “Up to the open doors! I can slide down and enter there.” It would take less time, and right now, Dernwyn felt herself humming with anxiousness. Moria had left her on edge, and with a growing need to see her children and her mother _now_.

The Eagle swung up on a draft, and soon he was just above where the balcony would be. Dernwyn swung her legs over to one side, took a deep breath, and when the time was right, slid down the extended wing of the Eagle. She landed on both of her feet on the balcony, and she gave a mighty wave to the Eagle as he departed. Then she was racing inside, hurrying to find her children and Dis.

The hearth was crackling in the main room, she could hear it, and nowhere else. She ran down the hall and swung the door open, eyes finding Dis immediately. “Dis, the thieves, there’s an army of them and they're making for the Treasury-“

Then her eyes caught onto everything else, and she froze. Across the room in her chair, Dis’s eyes were watching her, fury and pain in their depths. By her side stood Holdred and Hildili, clinging to her.

The thieves around them stood silent, blades out, watching Dernwyn like she was a rat and they were a feline. Behind her now, she could hear the doors shutting, and she forced herself to keep her eyes on the thieves she could see. Her sword was useless here, though. With Dis and the children captive, there was nothing she could do.

“Quite the entrance, your highness,” one of the men said, stepping forward. “And we appreciate the notice, but as you can see…the message has already come to Erebor.” He gave her a toothy grin, and a few of the other men chuckled. A couple of dwarves in the group glared at her, and she resisted the urge to step backwards and away from them. She could all but feel the foul breaths of those behind her, and she wanted to shiver. She wanted to be anywhere else but here. She wanted Fili.

She drew herself up to her full height and slowly moved forward, arms and hands away from her sword. “You could not have come from Moria,” she said. “I know no other could have gotten here before me.” Behind the thief, Dis’s eyes went wide.

“Nah, they’re still on their way,” the thief said, almost in a friendly tone. “We’re the welcomin’ party, as it were. And you’ll be guests to our queen’s crowning as she takes Erebor for her own.”

And Dernwyn’s heart froze in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun. You had to know there was going to be a cliffhanger.


	23. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end game of Caila is finally figured out. Broken relationships are finally mended. And hope may finally be restored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was wicked last chapter and gave y'all a cliffhanger. I am evil. How have you all not figured that out yet?
> 
> But. I have been very busy writing, and as you can see, there is now a final chapter count up top. Final. As in, I have a lot of chapters written and I'm nearly done writing them.
> 
> We're almost to the end. SO EXCITED.

It was one of the few times in his many years of knowing them, Bilbo thought, that he had seen Fili and Kili so quiet. Not just quiet, however, but _still_.

Fili continued to stare at the ground from where he was seated on a bench. His eyes seemed to be fixed on nothing at all, and Bilbo could only imagine the horrors he was concocting in his head. To his left was Kili, always to remain by his brother’s side. Kili himself was blank-faced, but his one hand was wrapped tightly in his brother’s. His other hand continued to trace the arrowhead hanging from his neck. What was going on between the dwarf and his elf-husband, Bilbo still didn’t know, but though the tension had eased between them, something still remained broken. He could only hope whatever it was would be remedied in the time to come.

No one else was really much better. Éomund was off in the corner, shifting restlessly from one foot to another. He had a hair pin in his hands that he was moving back and forth between his fingers. Aragorn was pacing quietly in the back of the room, with his gaze moving to the door every other pass. Gandalf was leaning against the tree that Legolas had been against, and everyone else had found a bench.

When Thorin had gotten up to carefully pace as well, face dark and lost in thought, Bilbo hadn’t joined him. He’d stayed on the bench, half to spare his ankle, half to be anywhere except next to Thorin.

Erebor had been taken. How had it even happened? _How_?

Only when Legolas returned did everyone look up, waiting to breathe. “Bard will live,” he said softly, and a quiet sigh resounded around the room.

“Thank Mahal,” Thorin murmured. He seemed to have aged overnight, and the silver hair that had been steadily growing was even more present now than before. “And Tauriel?”

“Remaining here in Lorien, for the time.” Perhaps even longer than that and they all knew it, but no one had the heart to state the truth. Not when Legolas looked as grief-stricken as he did.

“Has Bard said anything?” Nori asked.

Legolas nodded. “He said they took Dale, then struck at Erebor. Though they injured a few, including Bard, their purpose was not to kill, but to capture, and he imagines it would be much the same in Erebor. He fled for help and was found by Haldir’s guard outside of Mirkwood.”

“A ransom?” Aragorn asked, perplexed. “Do they expect to ransom all of Erebor and its people?”

They had made no demands, and hadn’t seemed to have that plan, from what Bilbo had heard in Moria. “No, they don’t want a ransom,” Bilbo said. “But I don’t understand what else-“

“Slaves,” Dwalin said darkly, and Bilbo stared, stunned. “They’ll mine Erebor and use its people as slaves. She’ll take the kingdom for her own.”

“Moria is dangerous and empty,” Thorin said. He shut his eyes and shook his head. “Erebor is not.”

They’d stolen Erebor. They’d not wanted to steal its gold or its wealth, but to steal the mountain, the _kingdom_ , itself. It hadn’t been about the rings, it had _never_ been about the rings, Bilbo was certain of it, now more than ever. Especially after Galadriel’s soft spoken words of truth. No, they’d only been a smokescreen for her true purpose.

“But how could they overtake the entire _kingdom_?” Kili asked, incredulous. “We’ve got a capable Guard, our people are strong-“

“The Guard who is missing their Captain?” Aragorn said gently. “The kingdom that is missing their king and its heirs? It would have been a risky move, but it could have been done. Especially if there had been dwarves within willing to open the doors.”

Nori said something low and angry in Khuzdul, and even Bofur nodded grimly. “There weren’t that many dwarves there, though, in Moria,” Esmeralda said. “It was mostly men and orcs, in that army we saw. How could dwarves turn against your kingdom?”

“Not everyone approves of Thorin havin’ Erebor,” Bofur told her. “Even back in the days when the line of Durin held Erebor, there were warring factions of dwarves. They don’t always stand united.”

“I still don’t understand,” Kili said, shaking his head. “If that was what she really wanted, then why not just attack Erebor?”

The realization hit Bilbo like a bag of bricks, and he buried his face in his hands. “The Shire,” he murmured.

They’d lured them out of Erebor with his kin, with the possible threat to the Shire. And of _course_ Thorin had come with him, and the other dwarves as well. It would’ve been easy to cause an orc problem on the borders, removing more dwarves from the mountain. Then, with Dernwyn, Dis, and the children captured, the dwarves would’ve easily capitulated, moving where they’d needed to in order to keep Dernwyn and Dis safe. Doing whatever had been demanded of them in order to keep Holdred and Hildili alive.

Fili slowly shook his head. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

Bilbo raised his head at last. He couldn’t even look at his husband, shame coursing through them. “Do you remember why we wondered where the great host of orcs was to march on the Shire? How we only found a few, much less than we’d expected? Because that’s all it was: a diversion. We flew from Erebor to race the orcs to the Shire, and they took over Erebor while we were gone. They wanted us out of the mountain, and they knew _exactly_ how to do it. She wanted Erebor whole, which she wouldn’t have had if she’d attacked the mountain. So she had to get rid of us. And she did.”

He suddenly felt as he had ten years ago, after he’d been banished, pacing the room at the inn. He’d cursed out Thorin, and then, appropriately, cursed out himself. _Damn me, damn me, damn me_. He’d brought this down on Erebor, on all of them. If harm came to Dernwyn or Holdred or little Hildili, to Dis or Dori or any of the dwarves in the mountain, it would be completely and utterly on him. He dug his fingers tight into his curls.

“And Moria?” Bofur finally dared to say, when Bilbo had finished.

“They weren’t expectin’ us at Moria,” Dwalin said. “That much was obvious. No, they expected us to take forever gettin’ to the Shire, to deal with orcs, then make our way back. They were hopin’ to have us gone for months, not weeks. But Dernwyn got the ransom after we’d already left, so.”

It was little consolation. Beside him, Esmeralda said not a word. He could only imagine how much she had to hate herself, when she had done nothing wrong. It was Bilbo who’d done it, Bilbo who’d lost Erebor and its people. He’d never wished for the floor to give way and the ground to swallow him whole so fervently before. There was absolutely no way he could ever forgive himself for this or ever look his husband in the eye again.

He hadn’t even heard the soft tread of boots on the floor, so lost was he in his self-loathing. He definitely heard the voice right in front of him, however. “This was not your fault,” Thorin said.

“They knew,” Bilbo said miserably, still hunched over with his fingers pulling at his curls. “They knew that I’d leave the mountain for the Shire, for my cousins. I’m the reason we left Erebor. If it hadn’t been for me, you’d still be in Erebor, defending the mountain-“

Balin would be alive, Tauriel wouldn’t be on the brink of death, Dernwyn wouldn’t be a pawn, and the children wouldn’t be in danger. All of it his fault.

A fierce grip caught him and shoved him upright in his seat. Thorin’s eyes blazed at him in such a way that Bilbo hadn’t seen in years. “And if we hadn’t gone with you?” Thorin asked furiously. “What then? You and Esmeralda and a small group of soldiers would have gone back to the Shire anyway, and you would have been captured or _killed_. They would have brought me your body and I would never have forgiven myself.”

Bilbo shook his head but Thorin refused to let go, even tightening his hold, his one arm more than enough to pin Bilbo where he sat. “Do you understand me?” Thorin shouted, and his voice broke on the last word, his next words a mere whisper. “I never would have forgiven myself for your death. Not when I could have gone with you and saved you.”

“None of us would’ve,” Bofur said, as solemn as Bilbo had ever seen him before. From beside him, Nori gave a sharp nod, and Ori did the same. Fili and Kili looked as broken as their uncle, unwilling to take their eyes off of Bilbo for fear that he would be gone if they did. Bilbo forced himself to look at Dwalin, the only dwarf beside Thorin who deserved to hate him. His brother, lost, because of Bilbo’s kin.

But Dwalin only had a gruff smile for him. “Losin’ you would’ve been unforgivable,” he said. “Not an acceptable loss, lad.”

It was more than Bilbo could take. “But,” he choked out. “But Balin-“

“Lived a long life,” Dwalin said shortly. “And even if he’d been Fili or Kili’s age, we all knew what we were leavin’ for. We would’ve died to save you or your kin, and we still would.” He still looked pained at the mention of his brother, though, and Ori quietly took his hand in support. Saying the words was far less than accepting them, and the very fact that he’d said them at all, in order to help _Bilbo_ , was more than the hobbit could almost bear.

Nods and rumbles of agreement echoed around the room, and Bilbo couldn’t look at any of them for a second longer. He buried his face in his hands, tears dripping through his fingers. Thorin murmured something before pulling him into a tight embrace. Even with one hand, he still managed to keep Bilbo feeling safe, keep him protected. It was more than he deserved, but Eru help him, he was going to take it.

“The only thing we have left to decide, then, is what we will do next,” Gandalf said. When Bilbo raised his eyes, dashing at them with the back of his hand, the wizard was staring straight at Thorin. “What we can possibly do against what is obviously a dangerous foe, I do not know. But if Caila takes Erebor, I fear for other races and kingdoms of Middle-Earth.”

“I have men within Erebor, who I know would defend your people as if they were our own,” Aragorn said. “If standing down would have spared lives, however, they would have done so.”

“So we have a force inside of Erebor. It’s not going to be enough for that army, though, unless we can get them out of the mountain.” Ori pursed his lips. “Did Bard say anything about his people?”

“Held within the city of Dale,” Legolas said. “Currently safe, to the best of his knowledge. After being struck, he remembers very little.”

The room fell silent. Outside, night was beginning to fall once more, the lamps on the paths glowing in the dimming light. Bilbo could faintly hear the murmurs of elves further off, leaving their company alone for the time. Galadriel had left with Haldir but had promised to return. She had looked to Bilbo for a long moment, staring deep inside him as if to see into his very soul, and he’d forced himself to not shudder under it. Never had she looked at him so oddly, so intently. He’d almost been…well, _afraid_ of her. She had only ever looked on him with understanding and kindness.

He didn’t understand the difference. It hadn’t been the years, because he remembered waking up here in Lorien, tucked in her arms, feeling as if he were a child again in his mother’s embrace. She had smiled at him, assured him all would be well, and had brushed his hair from his face.

Had she known it was his fault? Had she known that Erebor had fallen, and that he was to blame? Did she hold him responsible, when the others wouldn’t?

He felt sick. Thorin’s arm tightened around him, as if sensing his thoughts, and he forced himself to settle.

“What will become of Tauriel?” Gimli asked quietly, the softest Bilbo had ever heard him. His heart ached for the dwarf who had become such a good friend to Tauriel.

Legolas couldn’t meet his eyes. “If she cannot heal, she will be sent to the Grey Havens, and there to sail to the Undying Lands. She would be with the rest of her kin and mine. It would be the only way to save her.”

Silence fell again. Gimli looked wretched but shrugged off Ori’s comforting hand. Ori bit his lip, and Dwalin gently tugged his husband away from the other distraught dwarf. It was clear that Gimli would accept no comfort, if not from knowing that Tauriel would be well.

“Will you go with her?”

The almost silent words still struck the rest of the company dumb. Legolas stared at his husband, eyes wide. “What?”

Kili watched Legolas with an unreadable gaze. “Will you go with her, to the Undying Lands?” he asked again. “It’s…I know you want to.”

Bilbo felt as if his eyes were going to fall out of his head. Where had _that_ come from? “Kili,” Fili croaked, staring at his brother as if he’d never seen him before.

“I’m not a fool,” Kili continued, and there was a small smile on his face. It was filled with such resignation that it hurt to look at. “It took me awhile, but I figured it out. You only started being distant when I almost fell. You’ve got the same fear Uncle and Fee do. You can’t deal with mortality.”

“Everyone out,” Thorin said, and they all began to head for the door. Legolas and Kili deserved privacy, if nothing else.

“No, stay,” Kili said, and they all froze, Bilbo still having just risen from the bench. “You’re all going to know anyway, you might as well…” He cleared his throat and twisted the arrowhead hanging about his neck. “It’s all right,” Kili said, and his throat sounded tight. “I understand, I do. I couldn’t bear watching you die, either. I don’t blame you.” He huffed a watery laugh. “You deserve to be happy. I want you to be happy. And if you going over the sea to your kin, keeping me as a memory, is what will make you happiest, then…then I’ll let you go. If it would make you happy, I’d let you go.”

Fili stood and walked away to one of the corners, and this time it was Ori who had to keep Dwalin from going over to him. No doubt Fili had thoughts of Dernwyn running through his head again.

Bilbo couldn’t stand to look at any of them. Not when all he could think of was the nightmare he’d had again, waking him from his healing sleep and urging him to seek out Thorin. The despair in Kili’s voice, the resignation but the determination to see it through, it made his own eyes burn. How anyone could have the strength to let their beloved go, he didn’t know. Apparently Kili had vaster depths of wisdom and strength that none of them had.

There were days when he wondered how his nephews could be thought of as smart, with all the rocks in their heads. And then there were days where they were so brilliant, even when they were heartbreaking, that Bilbo didn’t know how he could stand beside them as an equal.

Legolas’s soft voice broke the silence, his words damning. “I had considered it. After I had thought you fallen. The thought of you dead, silent forever, I could not…” There was a pause. “I would have done anything to spare myself the pain of losing you, no matter how selfish it made me.”

Bilbo forced himself to look up. Kili looked as if he were bracing himself for the blow where he sat upon the bench. No one else was moving, and beside Bilbo, Thorin was a tense as an iron bar.

Legolas slowly stepped forward until he was in front of Kili, never once breaking his gaze. “Then I nearly lost you, in Moria,” he said. “And I knew then that if I did lose you, I would fall with you. I did not want to live without you, but more than that, I _could not_. If you fall, I fall.”

Carefully he knelt in front of Kili, the dawning realization on Kili’s face almost more than Bilbo could stand to look at. “You are my hope, my light. There is nothing I would not do for you in order to remain by your side. I faltered, in my fear, but not anymore.” He smiled and took Kili’s hand in his. “I’m here. And I’m staying. I will never leave your side, no matter how dark or grim the days may be.”

Kili’s smile was as bright as the noonday sun, and he threw himself forward, wrapping himself around his husband and holding on tightly. Legolas cradled him gently, putting no further duress on his wound, but still clung as if he’d never let go.

Bilbo didn’t realize he was crying until Thorin brushed away tears from the edges of his smile. When he glanced at his husband, he found tears on Thorin’s face as well, sliding into the upturned corners of his lips. He took Thorin’s hand in his and held on tightly, feeling stronger and somehow lighter than before. _Husband_.

Thorin pressed a brief kiss to the top of his head. _Beloved_.

“You took long enough.”

Gimli let out a cry as they all turned. Pale and shaking, arm wrapped around her in much the same way as Thorin’s was, stood Tauriel. Before anyone could stop him Gimli was racing over to her and wrapping her in his embrace from the waist down. Aragorn and Dwalin managed to catch her and steady her, and Tauriel gave a warm smile at the dwarf holding to her tightly.

“You look terrible,” Dwalin told her. She swung her gaze over to him, even as Esmeralda scowled at the dwarf. “Well, you do.”

“I would like to see you injured and looking any fairer,” she retorted, though her voice was weak. Still very injured, then, a thought bolstered as soon as Haldir came behind her, glaring at her.

“You should be abed, Tauriel. You are not well enough-“

“Peace, I only came for a few moments,” she said. She turned to Legolas again. “Are you settled?” she asked him. “Are you staying?”

Legolas nodded, looking grieved. “I am. I’m sorry, Tauriel. I cannot accompany you.”

“You shouldn’t. Not since it will be me accompanying you.”

“You will _not_ ,” Haldir said firmly at the same time as Gimli. Both of them glanced at each other for a moment, then turned back to Tauriel. Tauriel merely raised an eyebrow at them both.

“A coin on Tauriel,” Nori murmured from beside Bilbo, and Thorin snorted. Bilbo knew little of the other elf, having only just met him here, but even as bold and talented as he appeared to be, Bilbo wouldn’t take Nori’s bet for all the world. Tauriel, even as weak as she was, was no one to meddle with.

Tauriel turned to Legolas. “Where you go, I go,” she said firmly. “I’m not ready to sail to Aman yet. I have made Arda my home.”

“You could die,” Esmeralda blurted out, then clapped her hands over her mouth. Tauriel patted Gimli on the back, encouraging him to step aside so Esmeralda could stand beside her. Behind her, Haldir continued to watch carefully for any further faltering.

Esmeralda slowly placed a hand on Tauriel’s arm, as if afraid she would shatter. “You, you could go,” she said. “You could be safe.”

There wasn’t even a pause before Tauriel shook her head. “I would rather leave this world breathless, defending those whom I love, then sail away and breathe air that others cannot. I am staying with you, little sister.”

“You cannot come with us,” Thorin said. “You cannot aid us this way, Tauriel. I will not risk you.”

“And what exactly _are_ we doing?” Nori asked.

“We’re taking back Erebor,” Fili said. He looked a wreck, but his eyes were like flames. “That’s what we’re doing.”

“We have no army,” Dwalin began, but Haldir shook his head.

“You had no army before. Now you do. I will lead the Lorien elves to aid you.”

That was an unexpected bit of luck. Thorin gave him a nod of gratitude, and Haldir offered a brief smile. “I had thought to aid you further, ten years ago,” the elf said. “But fell at Isengard instead. My call to arms now is long overdue.”

“Not overdue,” Aragorn said. He moved to clap the elf on the shoulder. “Just in time.”

Gandalf set his staff aside and clasped his hands behind his back, deep in thought. “The army that will be approaching Erebor from the north will be nothing short of massive. She has obviously been gaining deserters and supporters for some time. We will not number enough to withstand her might.”

“What if we freed the army in Dale?” Bofur asked. “What if we could get to them?”

“That would cut them off from coming from behind, too,” Kili said. “That would give us more troops and let us march on Erebor.”

Another day where Bilbo wasn’t certain he deserved to stand beside his nephew. “May he outshine us both, one day,” he murmured, and Thorin gave a nod of agreement.

“Queen Morwen is mustering the Rohirrim,” Éomund said, surprising them. “She spoke with…with Dernwyn. Before we left. She swore we would have aid in case of trouble.”

Bilbo was certain he’d never been more thankful for Morwen as a friend then now. “Would that suffice?” Legolas asked Gandalf, who still looked pensive. “Will that be enough to take Erebor back?”

“In numbers, yes. But I fear for the captives within. They could stall an entire army by threatening the life of just one being within the mountain.”

Bilbo’s eyes darted to Fili, but his nephew was staring out at nothing, his fists clenched beside him. It could be Dernwyn, it could be Hildili or Holdred or Dis. It could be a random dwarf they didn’t know by name, and it didn’t matter. They would stop any attack if it meant sparing a life.

“So we need them out of the mountain,” Nori said flatly. Gandalf looked just as pleased at the notion as he did. “Wonderful. How do you clear a mountain?”

“Well, a dragon worked well the last time,” Kili deadpanned. Thorin snorted and completely missed the look on Bilbo’s face. Bilbo slowly raised his head, the sudden, random, crazed thought so startling clear he couldn’t see anything else except the thought. His mind was whirling around and around, the idea building the more he spun it around.

“It could work this time,” he said cautiously, and everyone whipped their heads around to him. He could all but feel Thorin staring at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Kili stared at him. “A dragon,” he said. “Uncle, I know you say that _we_ have rocks for brains, but…”

With every passing moment Bilbo became surer of himself. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet and stepped into the middle of the room, meeting Gandalf’s gaze. Gandalf raised an eyebrow at him. “You could do it,” Bilbo said. “If anyone could do it, it’d be you.”

“As much as I appreciate the faith you and young Kili seem to both have in me, regarding eleventh hour rescues, I’m still uncertain as to how I can aid beyond lending my own strength and power,” Gandalf said dryly. “I cannot summon a dragon. My power is not that great.”

It was so glorious an idea that Bilbo thought he’d about burst. “I’m not looking for great power or magic,” he said simply. “I’m looking for fireworks.”

Slowly Gandalf began to smile. Around the room, everyone seemed to stand straighter, as if hope had been inserted into their very being like steel rods up and down their spines. “Well?” Bilbo asked.

Gandalf took his staff from its resting place and leaned down to meet Bilbo’s gaze straight on. “That, my dear Bilbo,” he said, “can most _certainly_ be arranged.”

And Bilbo smiled.


	24. The stirrings of rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Defeat has never been accepted easily by the line of Durin.
> 
> And fate's hand in their future, and past, is finally revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still writing hard and fast. Hope y'all enjoy the chapter as we set up for the big finale.

The sunlight coming through the windows of their distant rooms felt wrong. It didn’t deserve to shine the way it did.

It had shone the day the dragon had come, too. It had shone the day Thorin had returned from Moria with news of Frerin’s death.

Dis glared at the door as subtly as possible. It was open, and had been, since they’d been kept captive in their main room. There was no point to closing it: there was no lock on it. There was a man guarding it outside the door, back to the wall, as casual looking as could be. She knew, however, that his ears were trained to catch anything from within the room and relay it back to the others. So far, Dis hadn’t given him the satisfaction, save for some random songs she sang to the children.

Dernwyn didn’t say anything either. Better to be safe than to be sorry.

She’d shared the story of what had happened, though, in halting terms. That the Shire had been saved, and Bilbo’s kin too, but that they had ventured into Moria and lost Balin. It had _hurt_ , more than Dis had wanted to admit, and she’d forced her grief aside. She’d refused to show it in front of the thieves.

Then Dernwyn had told her of the army coming to Erebor, of the ragtag troops that this woman, _Caila_ as the thief had added, had put together. Men and orcs, mostly, but a number of dwarves who’d happily stood against Erebor. They’d sneered at Dernwyn but hadn’t gone near the children, thank Mahal. One of the men had moved to push Holdred aside, but a dwarf had stopped him with brusque words. Even as vile as the children had obviously been to the dwarves, they were still children, and that was still respected. It had left Dis a little more comforted, though not by a lot. Especially not since a human had been placed in charge of watching them.

Not that a traitorous dwarf would’ve been any better.

For someone had let them into Erebor. Someone had opened the doors for them, and even as the Guard had rallied at the front gate to aid Dale, they’d slipped in the back and taken Dis hostage. Even King Aragorn’s men had stepped down and had let themselves be pushed away into the mines with the other dwarves. The women and children had been put in the kitchens and various halls. After that, it had been as easy as locking the doors and watching them.

She wished she knew what had become of Dril, of Dori, of Bombur and Bifur. But not a word had been given of their state. And frankly, Dis was suddenly very tired of not knowing. Mahal’s beard, she wasn’t some small, cowering thing, she was Dis, Princess of Erebor, and she _would_ have answers.

Before she could so much as stand for the door, Dernwyn and the children immediately staring at her, the thief was met by a dwarf. “Relief,” the dwarf said, and the man nodded and headed down the hall. The dwarf took up his position, but there was something so familiar about him that Dis just couldn’t place. His face wasn’t familiar to her, but his voice and the way he held himself reminded her of someone.

She squared her shoulders and moved to the door before Dernwyn could hold up a hand to halt her. “I wish to make a request,” Dis said.

The dwarf side-eyed her but didn’t say a word. Pursing her lips, Dis continued. “There are kin within these walls, fast friends that I would know of. Dori the Guildmaster, for starters, and Bombur, Master Chef. Dril, second in command to the Captain of the Guard, and Bifur, in charge of the Armory. Where are they?”

The dwarf didn’t look at her, and Dis forced herself to remain calm. “What of those who were in Council when you swept into Erebor? Nadr, or his son Valdr? Where have they been placed?”

Again, she received no answer, merely the guard stretching his neck. Fury began to flood her veins, and she reminded herself of how many times she’d told her brother that anger was _not_ a diplomatic solution. Now, however, she was beginning to think he had the right idea. Dernwyn’s words of her brother and how Thorin had been injured, of how Bilbo had faced _Durin’s Bane_ and somehow lived to tell the tale, of Tauriel’s injury, of her _youngest_ on the verge of death…

It was more than she could stand. “Even if you cannot bear the sight of me, or think the line of Durin traitors for whatever reason, _give me this_ ,” she said, voice low and full of righteous anger. “We are closer kin, you and I, than you and the rest of those _thieves_. I only ask for word on my kin, be they blood tied or honor bound.”

No doubt they were part of the dwarves who believed, as Dekir and Rutar did, of the sanctity of the bloodline. And Dis had never been happier than when Dernwyn had told her of their demises. She ruthlessly squashed down the thrill of victory at the memory.

The dwarf said nothing for a long moment, and Dis refused to move from the doorway. Finally he glanced at her sideways and said quietly, “We share kin, aye. And good kin at that. My cousin speaks fondly of you.”

Dis blinked. From his sleeve he pulled forth a folded parchment. “That doesn’t mean I will honor you the same,” he said, but his tone was gentle and his eyes were warm, a complete opposite of his words. He handed it to her, and she quickly took it. A brief glance inside showed written words that looked very familiar. Almost like…

Her eyes snapped up to his. “I would know your name, if you will be our guard,” she said, keeping her voice even. “If there should be a need for aid.”

He gave her a short nod. “Hril, son of Idril, at your service. _Your majesty_.”

It was a term of honor given with utmost respect, one she had not received from any of the thieves thus far. Now that she knew the connection, she could see it in his tall figure, his broad shoulders, his bushy beard. Still, she had to ask. “Is your cousin well?”

“He is,” Hril said. He gave a quick nod to the letter, then turned away from her and spoke nothing more. But she’d found more than she’d expected here, in Erebor, when all else had been turned against her and those she loved.

She swept to the fireplace, Dernwyn right by her side. Carefully Dis unfolded the parchment and began to read silently.

_My lady,_

_We have watched the dwarves of our towns go to Moria under Caila’s call. When we heard rumors of her gathering forces to decimate the line of Durin, we quickly gathered under her, not to join with her, but to be here for you. There are those here, amongst her ranks, which are loyal to King Thorin, his husband, the Great Bilbo Baggins, and to you, our Princess. We are here to see you and your heirs safely delivered._

_My cousin Dril was right: you are as strong as you are kind. We serve, and with honor._

_Wait for our signal._

_Hril_

Slowly Dis raised her eyes from the page. Hril stood, as silent and imposing as ever, as if he were an enemy. But the truth in the pages was unmistakable.

Dernwyn was all but trembling with anxiousness. “We need to make our own plans,” she said, no longer fearing what their guard would hear. Not know that they knew that Hril was on their side. Dis gave a short nod.

“And for the children.” For she would keep her grandchildren safe above all else. If she did not survive the battle she knew now was coming, she would at least ensure the future of Erebor and of those whom she loved.

“You know, my mother gave me a cloak, and the children might be cold later,” Dernwyn said, and her eyes were alight with fire once more. They’d gone dull and dark after the thieves had taken her sword, but they were burning now, and Dis was glad to see it.

Dis grinned and looked to the cloak which hung now by the fireplace. It was large enough to wrap around Holdred and Hildili both, and the mithril within would keep them safe. “Your mother was a wise woman,” she said, and Dernwyn rolled her eyes.

“Are we cold now?” Holdred asked, raising his eyebrow in such a way that made Dis ache for her own sons. From the doorway, Hril snorted.

Dernwyn grinned even wider. “Not yet,” she said. “Soon, though.”

“We’ll be ready,” Holdred promised. He wrapped his arm around Hildili, and Lili looked ready to go to war herself, her stuffed dragon held tight in one hand like a mace. Her brave and beautiful grandchildren.

Hope flourished in her breast, and coupled with her anger at their captivity, it was enough to make her dangerous. She was looking forward to when she could release it on the thieves. Hopefully Caila would be the first one she could break. At this point, anything looked like a viable weapon.

They thought they’d taken her axes and her blade. She was a Durin, and she would fight with the chairs and benches about her, if that was all that was left to her. They would rue the day they had entered Erebor.

“We’ll all be ready,” she said. Then she ushered Dernwyn and the children back to the corner where they’d been quietly drawing on the scrap parchment Ori had given them some time ago. It would give her time to think and to plan.

Caila wasn’t going to know what hit her, though Dis would make certain it was her face that the woman saw last before she went to whatever halls she was destined for.

 

“She’ll be all right.”

Fili looked up, the first time since he’d lifted his head in hours. It left him feeling dizzy. Éomund still stood there, however, and it didn’t look as if he minded waiting for Fili to get his bearings, a thought that Fili appreciated. Still, the young man’s words weren’t exactly welcome at the moment. “You don’t know that,” Fili said.

“I know _her_ ,” Éomund countered. “As do you. And you know Dernwyn is stubborn to a fault. There’s absolutely no way that she isn’t all right and raising a ruckus. If they’ve taken Erebor, I can guarantee you that she, along with your mother, will probably have it back by the time we get there.”

It was a consolation prize of words, but at that point, Fili was willing to take it. Kili was resting with Legolas, both of his uncles were healing, and Tauriel had finally been convinced into staying for a time. It’d been _Gimli_ that had been more hard pressed to talk into _leaving_ , as he’d been determined to remain with her. Fili still wasn’t sure the dwarf would be coming with them.

And none of it had to do with his mother, his Dernwyn, his _children_ being in the hands of those thieves. It was more than Fili could bear, and if he didn’t want to bury his face in his hands and sob, he wanted to bury his hands in someone else’s face.

Éomund slowly sat beside him on the ground. “You trust her with your life, do you not?” he asked quietly.

Slowly Fili nodded. “Then trust her with hers and the little ones. She would hold no one in higher regard than them and your mother. They’ll be safe. You have to believe that, if just to focus. You can’t help her this way.”

“This is one of my worst nightmares,” Fili said, the words all but falling from his lips. “Her gone and I’m left with nothing. I can’t raise my children on my own, even if I still _have_ them,” and the thought of Hildili and Holdred gone forever was enough to make him gasp for air.

A strong hand caught him on the back and helped him breathe. In, out. In, out. Éomund was right: he couldn’t help Dernwyn like this. He was falling apart, the images of what could be overwhelming his chance to do anything _now_. He could all but see the look on Dernwyn’s face if she’d found him like this. Gentle, kind, but with a crease of annoyance in her brow. _What you’re sitting for, I don’t know. Up with you, and come help me._

Slowly his breathing evened out. “Better?” Éomund asked, and Fili nodded. Not great, but better.

The young man rose and offered his hand. “Good. I would hate to lose a brother when I’ve truly only just met him.” He gave a quick grin. “You married my sister, you know.”

“So I did,” Fili said, and his next breath was more even. “When are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow, from what I understand. Aragorn and Thorin both want to give Kili more time to rest. He seems to be healing well, though, even better now that he and Legolas are no longer broken.”

That, that had been hard to stomach. Fili had managed a small moment of peace in his heart when Legolas had pledged himself to Kili once more. _That_ was how they were supposed to be. It was good to see them righted.

“I believe the elves have put together a meal for us,” and even as Fili looked up, Aragorn came around the corner. He looked to Éomund first, then to Fili, and he stood examining him for so long that Fili nearly fidgeted under the scrutiny, like a child. Then Aragorn smiled and continued, “It will be a small number of us, but I have hopes that Gimli will eat enough for those who will be partaking of a meal in their own quarters.”

“Hope?” Fili asked. “Mahal help you, you’ll never get a bite to eat if you hope for that.”

Aragorn grinned and extended his hand to offer them the doorway. Éomund moved through first, with Fili trailing behind. He forced himself to take another breath, then two.

He wouldn’t sit and mourn her when she wasn’t gone yet. And she _couldn’t_ be gone. He would have felt it in his soul, he knew it. No, Dernwyn was still alive. And he would find her.

There was no helping the being who stood between him and her. They’d depart the earth so swiftly they wouldn’t even remember his rage.

 

In the twilight of the night, when all else were asleep, Bilbo found himself staring at the ceiling. Beside him, Thorin slept on, careful of his arm. Other rooms nearby housed the rest of their company, all of them having gone to bed long ago. But sleep continued to elude him.

It hadn’t exactly ‘eluded’ him so much as given him nightmares and nightmares only. Of Thorin and their nephews falling in Erebor’s shadow, of Bilbo’s hand on the blade in his husband’s gut. Of burying Thorin, Fili, and Kili beneath the mountain in stone tombs. After that, he was content to never sleep again.

He finally sat up and carefully removed himself from the bed. He couldn’t sit there any longer, he had to pace, he had to walk, he had to do _something_. Anything that wouldn’t make him think of what he’d dreamt of. The curtains billowed in the slight breeze, and Bilbo pushed them aside to feel the air for himself. Here in one of the ground rooms, the curtain was their only wall from the rest of Lorien, the trees behind them making up the back of the room. The glowing lights were still bright enough to see by, and Bilbo let himself look out into the woods and just breathe.

Off in the distance, the sudden sight of Galadriel made him pause. She gave him an unreadable gaze, then began to walk down the path she was on. In Bilbo’s head, her voice echoed.

_Come with me, Bilbo. For I have things to show you._

He felt himself moving, as if in a dream, slowly and with the glow of the lights blurring everything save for the path beneath his feet. Every step seemed light and almost as if he were falling, and the next one only moved him upward. Yet he saw that he was still on the ground, moving after her in the quiet of the night.

He never heard her other words, directed to one whose blue eyed gaze watched him go. _His heart is heavy. You know this. I seek to give him answers that may stop the faltering in his heart. Rest, Thorin. For I will keep watch and deliver him safely back to you._

He never saw his husband’s gaze slowly drift shut. When he did glance back, Thorin was right where he had been before, asleep in the bed, the curtains waving back and forth in the gentle breeze.

Down steps and along thick roots they wandered, until at last she began to descend down a curling stairway to a small grove, wrapped and hidden within large trees. Between the trees, amongst the mossy grass, stood a short column with a large bowl. Resting on the column was a large pitcher. There Galadriel stood, waiting for him, and her eyes remained on him.

Slowly Bilbo made his way down and soon found himself standing in front of her. She wasn’t silent long. “I spoke to you, ten years ago, of showing you my mirror, but you already knew then the dangers of that which you possessed, and that which you were walking toward.” She took the pitcher in her hand, carefully, both hands supporting its weight. “I would have you look into the mirror now, for I believe you have need of it.”

“What will I see?” he asked hesitantly. She was still staring at him with that same gaze, the gaze that he didn’t understand. As if he’d done something wrong. Well, he’d lost Erebor and possibly the children, Dis, Dernwyn-

She shook her head, hair falling about her. “Do not lay the trouble of Erebor at your feet,” she said. “It does not belong there. I seek to help you, Bilbo Baggins. You are a friend, and you deserve the truth.”

She began to pour water into the bowl, and it seemed to glisten like the crystals that Erebor mined. “The mirror can show you what has happened, what is here and now, and what may yet come. Nothing is set in stone. But fate can always change its mind.”

Then she said nothing else and set the pitcher aside. Bilbo took small steps towards the column and found he could rest his feet almost solidly on the ground and still peer over into the water. It was calm and still, his own reflection looking back at him and revealing his face for the first time in weeks. The scratch on his cheek from Dekir’s blade was there, bruised but healing. His hair looked a little shorter, thanks to the Balrog’s heat. Various other bruises and scratches were there, but otherwise, he looked like a hale and healthy hobbit. Save for the bruises beneath his eyes where he couldn’t sleep.

Then his own face was gone, and in its place was another. He blinked. “Mother?” he whispered.

Belladonna smiled at him, and he watched as she turned and began to play with his much younger self as a child. Then she was gone, and it was just him, a little older, sitting alone in Bag-End. Even through the years, Bilbo remembered the pain of loss, the silent years alone in the house by himself. He almost wished he could speak to that younger self, to tell him things would get better – and worse – by turn. That he would carry the earth’s worst burden, but meet the only one who called to his heart.

After that, it was a flurry of motion, in the mirror. The dwarves arrived, the journey to Erebor going by in quick glimpses and seconds. The dungeons, Esgaroth, the Arkenstone and the gold lust, Bilbo leaving the mountain. This, he knew. It didn’t hurt any less to look at, but ten years standing beside his husband quickly soothed the old hurt and put it away where it belonged: in his memories.

Then things got…odd.

One moment, he was standing and speaking to Bard, asking for the Arkenstone back, and then the next, he was in some sort of battle beside the man, racing amongst orcs and goblins. Bilbo stared, not understanding. That hadn’t happened.

The image shifted again. Wandering the Wold, alone and lost before the Rohirrim had found him. It shifted back to that unknown battle and the Eagles soaring high above, taking out orcs. In the distance, there was Erebor, and there was Thranduil, battling alongside Legolas.

Rohan, Edoras. Erebor, fallen men, elves, and dwarves everywhere. Racing away from the orcs near the White Mountain, then shifting back to him racing through the remnants of the battle and finding Thorin, fallen. Thorin speaking his apologies in Gondor, giving him his beloved pin. Thorin whispering apologies even as they carried his broken body away. Thorin and Bilbo, taking hands in the Shire.

Thorin taking Bilbo’s hand before breathing his last.

“No,” Bilbo murmured, unaware that he was shaking his head in a rapid manner. “No, this is my nightmare, this… _no_ …”

They were in Erebor, but the image kept shifting, like some horrible distorted nightmare. They were laughing at Kili and Fili while Dernwyn scolded them, and then the image shifted again, and it was Bilbo standing amongst the company, watching as they laid the line of Durin to rest under the mountain. It shifted at a dizzying rate to Bilbo in their rooms, smiling, watching Thorin scour over various documents for the Council, and then it shifted to Bilbo sitting in Bag-End by the hearth, his face blank, the house empty.

This was wrong. This was…this was _wrong_. This wasn’t his future, it _couldn’t_ be. Thorin, Fili, and Kili weren’t dead, that battle had never happened, there’d been no Eagles, and it was impossible because Thranduil was no longer _there_ -

A fire suddenly rose up, taking the mountain, and then he could only stare helplessly as a _ringwraith_ charged into the Shire, taking lives where it could. He shook his head and watched as Thorin slept on in the bed here in Lorien, just as he’d left him not so long ago, and then he was decaying, a corpse in a tomb of stone.

He hadn’t realized he was falling until he hit the ground hard. Above him, water trickled over the edges of the column, and his own clothes were damp, as if he’d been splashed. He tried to steady his breathing and looked to Galadriel. She looked pained, and Bilbo knew then that somehow, whatever had happened, she _knew_. “Tell me,” he said lowly. “Galadriel, _please_.”

She seemed to weigh the words before speaking them. “When you took your own gold to Bard, in exchange for the Arkenstone, you altered fate. The same events could not happen, not after your small token. Then you discovered the One Ring for what it was, and set into motion events which were meant to come to pass, but not for many a year. By doing this, you changed fate again, yet held true to it, all at the same time.”

Bilbo stared. “I changed fate?” he whispered. “But…what was supposed to happen?”

She only gazed at him, saying nothing, and his heart stopped in his chest. “The nightmares,” he breathed. “In the mirror, I saw it, things that couldn’t happen now-“

“They were meant to happen,” she said quietly. “Fate was meant to bring together five armies at the base of Erebor. The orcs and goblins were meant to be defeated, alliances were meant to be taken up.” She paused, as if unwilling to say the words, and Bilbo felt like begging her to say nothing, because he knew, he _knew_ what she’d say next.

Yet he couldn’t even find the air to say them when she spoke. “And the line of Durin was meant to perish.”

Bilbo found himself clutching the moss beneath him in his fists, tearing it from the ground. “Fili and Kili were meant to die defending their uncle,” she said. “And Thorin was meant to be taken from the field, give his regrets and seek forgiveness from you, and then go to the halls of his ancestors. That is what fate intended for Thorin Oakenshield and his heirs.”

Distantly he remembered Dis telling Dernwyn something about having expected a letter stating her kin were all lost to her, and instead had received a letter of good tidings. She would’ve gotten that letter, of Fili and Kili dead and her brother too. Would Bilbo have even met her, if that had happened? Would he have known what it was like to have a sibling, a sister?

No. Because, from the looks of it, he would’ve gone back to the Shire and stayed in his empty house, alone, for the rest of his days. That was what fate had intended for Bilbo Baggins.

“Why am I having the dreams now?” he croaked. He felt as if there was a tight knot in his chest, and if he didn’t cry, he would scream, and he would shake until he cracked open. “It can’t, it can’t happen now.”

Galadriel was silent for a long time, leaving him all the sicker. “Galadriel, please,” he begged.

She came to him then and knelt beside him in the grass. “Fate is not so easily pushed aside,” she said softly. “In the end, fate will have its way. Lives that were meant to be lost will still one day succumb to fate’s will. Another’s life may take their place, but in the end, fate cannot be dissuaded. You cannot circumvent fate forever.”

“But I changed fate,” he insisted, tears in his eyes. “I did, I found the Ring, I took it to Mordor-“

“It was always destined that a hobbit bearing the name of Baggins would take the Ring to Mordor,” she said gently, breaking his heart and hope even more. “You simply spared those who will come after you.”

And now they were going back to Erebor to face an incredible army with elves and men beside them. Fate was lined up to play out the way it hadn’t been able to ten years ago. It would take Fili, and Kili, and it would take Thorin. It would take them all, and who knew what other lives it would take since it had been kept waiting all these years?

“Those who attempt to alter fate’s course often become the hand of fate itself,” she said, her eyes and tone a warning. “If you try to change what fate has destined for the line of Durin, you may very well help aid it in its goal.”

The knot in his chest was beginning to burn, a slow fire in his veins that was evening out into determination and _fury_. He met her gaze, her gaze full of sorrow for him, and said, “But nothing is set in stone. You told me that.”

Slowly her lips turned up. “I did. And it is true. Nothing is truly set into stone.”

It was all the hope she could give him, but it would have to be enough. It _would_ be enough, because he wasn’t losing his family now. He wasn’t losing _Thorin_ now. He’d changed fate once, he could do it again.

He paused, a thought coming to mind. “Was Balin meant to…?”

She gave a slow nod, and he swallowed hard. “Oh.” Just by entering Moria, they had tempted fate too much, and it had taken Balin’s life, much as it had apparently intended to.

“Balin son of Fundin was always meant to rest in the stone halls of Moria. As were two others of your company, one of whom was with you.” His head snapped up. “I can assure you that fate was altered enough that Dwalin was only dealt one loss, and not two,” she added, her eyes dark and knowing.

Ori. Ori had been meant to fall in Moria. It made Bilbo want to run and find the dwarf and embrace him, to hold on to him tightly, and to tell Dwalin how lucky he was to have his husband.

Could he even tell them, though? Would he leave them too nervous, too cautious, on the battlefield? Would the very telling of it leave them all hampered and that much more susceptible to falling?

His head ached now, more than ever, at the sheer weight that had been dropped on him. “All this time,” he murmured. “All this time and we never knew.” Everyone thought he was a great hero, set apart from others, for having had the courage and the gall to carry the One Ring to Mordor. Instead, he’d only been one chance among many. Fate had simply elected him when he’d thrown fate off of its course.

“You can never doubt your importance,” she said firmly, but when she brushed hair from his face, it was done tenderly, like a mother would to a child. No longer did she gaze at him with a solemn face, but with the same gentleness and kindness she had given him so long ago. “The Ring was fated to fall to your hands, but until you changed the course of the future, it was never meant to be you that bore it to Mordor. _You_ did that, Bilbo. You did it when no one else could. And by doing so, you changed the fate and spared the lives of future generations.”

“And the line of Durin,” he said, and she nodded gravely.

“And those you love.”

After long moments of sitting and breathing, his mind running and spinning feverishly, he finally began to stand. She helped him to his feet, but did not let his hand go until he turned to face her. She bent low and placed a kiss to his forehead. “When they went to battle last, many things were different from how they are now. Thorin did not expect a loss that day. His gold lust was too strong to leave him anything except prideful and arrogant.”

It was her telling him to let them know, to share his fears and the truth with them. Not all of it: Dwalin didn’t need to know that Balin and Ori both had been slated for loss, and one other of their company beside, whomever that was. But he could tell them about his dreams, about the mirror, about what she had said.

“Go and rest,” she told him. “And know that tomorrow is always a different day. Every day, you change what will be.”

This was no different, that was all. And Bilbo was going to change it. He’d tell fate he was done with it, and it was going to listen to him. He’d changed the future once, he could do it again. She had left a fire burning in his veins, his fears fueling his desire to see fate hang. He could not fail. He _couldn’t_.

Still, even as he left, her ominous words rang through his head.

_Those who attempt to alter fate’s course often become the hand of fate itself._

Somehow, he found his way back to Thorin’s side, and he spent the rest of his night clinging to his husband, sleep not even a thought in his mind.


	25. The future questioned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo shares the truth about fate with the others. Privately, he shares more truths with Thorin about their future and everything he would give for his husband.
> 
> Legolas and Kili have a brief respite to themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic's finished. One small section to write, but beyond it, it's all been written. I want to start posting on a more regular basis, but this weekend is insane. I'm going to try, though! So bear with me.
> 
> Y'all continue to be awesome. Thanks for hanging with me: I swear, my favorite part about posting is replying to comments and talking with you guys. :)

Growing up, Aragorn had often thought himself a pawn on a board, being moved to and fro by the hand of fate and the winds of destiny. He had done everything he could to avoid what was laid out for him from the beginning. He had become a Ranger, had forsaken his name and cursed his bloodline. And yet, in the end, he had been given the throne of Gondor all the same, and he even now carried the blade once broken. Elrond had told him often enough that it was his destiny, his role to play, that he could never truly avoid it. He had a part to play, and it had to be done.

Apparently, he was not the only one whom fate moved about at its whim.

The leaves swayed above them in the breeze, the moving of the foliage and branches the only sound to be heard. Beneath their cover, hiding from the sunlight, stood the company, all in various degrees of shock. Dwalin had too far of a speculative look on his face, as if he knew more of the puzzle than the others, and Bilbo was doing his best to avoid looking at him, keeping his focus on his husband. Thorin appeared _stunned_ , almost helpless, his eyes roaming between Bilbo and his sister-sons, both of whom were sitting together with Éomund and Legolas. Neither knew what to say, but Legolas’s grip in Kili’s tunic was all but leaving him white-knuckled.

They had nearly lost them in Moria, and could possibly lose them all again.

Finally Gandalf stepped forward, taking the pressure off of Bilbo. “That explains a great many things,” he said quietly. “For I knew that the journey to Erebor would result in the ruin of Sauron, yet would also leave much grief in the Lonely Mountain. And while I removed Sauron’s presence from Dol Guldur, I never found the grief that was supposed to reach Erebor. I had assumed, as time went on, that it had been Thorin and Bilbo’s pain over the Arkenstone, but it had never seemed right.”

“You _knew_?” Ori asked, astounded. “And you didn’t _tell us_?”

“It was not something I could tell,” Gandalf said, shaking his head. “It was _nothing_ I could say. For to say it was to possibly condemn others to a worse fate. And I did not know for certain,” he hastened to add when Bilbo went pale and Thorin glared at the wizard for it. “When it is only a tendril of thought, more an idea and feeling than a clear image, one does more harm than good by speaking of it. That, I have learned through my many years.”

“Is that why you keep everything a secret?” Fili asked quietly. Aragorn paused at the thought, and a sudden understanding seemed to come to the company. Always did the wizard hold riddles and secrets from them, but they had merely attributed it to him being Gandalf. Yet if past pain and memory had left the wizard that way, it was another matter entirely, and left Aragorn’s heart aching for Gandalf.

“Partially,” Gandalf admitted, before he raised his eyebrows. “And partially to keep you from growing too big a head. Best to always keep you on your toes.”

Now _that_ sounded much more like Gandalf. “You could’ve just said that you enjoy tormenting us and that would’ve been an acceptable answer, too,” Kili muttered. Legolas finally gave a quick grin and pressed a kiss to Kili’s forehead.

“What do we do?” Esmeralda said after a long moment. “What can we do next?”

It certainly changed everything about Erebor. If they attempted to retake the mountain, their lives were already in danger. But now, with fate pressing in against them, the lives of Thorin, Fili, and Kili were even more in peril. “We cannot let you out on the field,” Éomund said. “It can be that easy.”

“That’s if you believe this fate thing in the first place,” Nori said, crossing his arms. “And if they stay behind, what’s to say they won’t meet fate sometime else? Or wind up getting shoved into the battle anyway without meaning to and then wind up defenseless?”

Despite appearing determined enough to box fate about the ears if given the chance, Bilbo still looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. His hands kept twitching, as if he wanted to cover his ears and not listen for a moment more. Aragorn quickly held his hands up to stop the noise that was beginning to rise. “If there is one thing I have learned through the years, it is that fate cannot be stopped,” he said when they’d gone quiet. “Fate will have its way. _But_. Fate can be diverted and set aside for a time.”

“So we can, what, die in a different battle?” Kili said incredulously.

“So you can pass to the halls of Mandos when you are old and the throne is in the hands of one who comes after your time,” Gandalf said, and Kili paused. “Fate is not fickle, but it can be dissuaded from its purpose, for a time. If its sole intent is for your lives to be ended, then all it must do is wait. Not even immortals are safe from the end of life, if that life is compromised or taken.”

No one needed to speak to know that they were all thinking of Tauriel in the healing rooms.

Dwalin continued to stand too stiffly, eyes boring into the side of Bilbo’s head, until at last the hobbit turned towards him. “Was Balin supposed to be taken?” he asked, lips tight. “Was Balin’s fate-“

“Please don’t ask me that,” Bilbo pleaded. “Dwalin, don’t.”

It was answer enough. Dwalin turned and left, with Ori hurrying after him. Bilbo pressed a fist to his mouth, face pained. It was clear that he had not been intending to let that information out, if just to spare Dwalin the pain of knowing. Balin’s life was always meant to be lost, then, and most likely lost in Moria.

It didn’t make the truth any less easy to deal with.

“So what do we do?” Bofur asked again, when no one else did. “What _can_ we do?”

After a long moment, Fili stood. “I’m going to Erebor,” he said. Kili made a soft noise, and Fili shook his head. “No, I am, I’m going. If I don’t go, Dernwyn and the children…” He swallowed, but when he raised his head, his gaze was absolute. “I’m going,” he said again, and he looked like a warrior already on the battlefield. He looked like a king. “And if I need to, I’ll stand alone.”

“You won’t,” Thorin said. “I will go with you. Fate may do what it wants with me. But I will not leave my sister, or the children, or my wedded daughter alone. Nor my people.” He looked to Bilbo, and while there was an apology in his gaze, there was also a firm stance that held no wavering in it.

Bilbo finally nodded. “And I’m going with you. I made the difference before, between your living and dying, and I’ll do it again.” Thorin didn’t look particularly thrilled with that knowledge, but Bilbo’s gaze brokered no argument from him.

Slowly they all stood, one by one, until only Kili and Legolas remained. Legolas refused to move until Kili did, but by the way Kili kept moving his gaze from his brother to his uncles, it didn’t seem as if his choice would take long.

Within moments of the thought Kili was on his feet, carefully, with Legolas’s help. “If there’s any way that I can help, I will,” he said. “Galadriel said I’d healed enough to travel. If I can travel, I can do battle.”

“Kee-“

“There may be a way for you to aid without seeing the battlefield,” Aragorn said, cutting Fili’s protest off. “We need the mountain freed. Gandalf?”

“Your ‘dragon’ is coming along splendidly. It will prove a hearty distraction, that’s for certain. It will not last long, however.” The wizard stroked his beard, lost in thought. “You must get inside, and quickly. Someone has to get into the mountain to help free the dwarves within.”

“If we can free the mountain, we can catch Caila between our army and those in Erebor,” Thorin agreed. “She will have no place to go. It will not take a great deal of might to get inside of Erebor, but a great deal of cunning and hiding.” He looked to Bilbo again, and this time, Aragorn knew there would be no dissuading him. “A _burglar_ might be of great use,” he continued.

Bilbo pursed his lips but nodded. “Fine. Kili can help me get into Erebor. Then I’m coming back out to join the battle. Kili can stay inside to help keep the mountain in the hands of the dwarves.”

Kili didn’t look thrilled about it, but with Legolas and Fili both heartily nodding at the idea, there really wasn’t much he could do about it. “I might be able to fire some arrows from above, depending on where the battle is,” he offered, but was met with resounding silence and harsh glares. He let out a huff and leaned into Legolas, scowling at them all. Legolas gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder, and thankfully Kili missed his obvious relief.

“Honestly, Kee,” Fili said, giving his brother the most foul of looks. “You almost _died_. I’d rather you weren’t out there fighting for your life, thank you very much.”

“Right, because you fighting for yours is any better,” Kili snapped sharply.

“I’m not the one who got stabbed and is trying to get stabbed again!” Fili yelled.

“ _Enough_ ,” Thorin bellowed, and they both fell silent. It was clear that fear was their motivating drive, and Thorin, too, seemed to sense it. He let out a sigh and hung his head. “Every battle has always held a potential for death. This is no different. There have been a dozen chances for fate to strike at us over the past ten years, and it has not done so. Face this as any other fight.”

“So, what, you’re saying that my dreams, fate, none of it’s real?” Bilbo asked angrily.

Thorin took his husband by the shoulder, his gaze dropping from fierce and kingly to soft and worried. “I’m saying that we cannot let ourselves think it is,” he said, and the fight went out of Bilbo in a single breath. “We will be ever mindful, but if it is our fate to go to our father’s halls, then-“

“Please, just, stop,” Bilbo said, his voice trembling. He took a breath, then another, then finally squared his shoulders. “We can believe that, all right. Just…don’t push what I’ve seen aside.”

“Believe me, none of us will,” Thorin assured him. “And I _am_ glad you told us. I only wish you hadn’t had to suffer the nightmares for so long.”

“If they come true, does that make Bilbo prophetic? Can you tell me if I’ll ever get a beard?” Kili asked, and Fili finally turned and smacked him on the arm for it. Kili gave him a grin, and Fili seemed hard pressed to not return it. Gandalf rolled his eyes and huffed something about ‘dwarves’, but the tension amongst them was broken. Even Bilbo was giving Kili an exasperated look, his lips turning up against his will.

“We’ll be all right,” Thorin said. It was truly an empty promise, but Aragorn could see Bilbo clinging to it as the high hope that it was. “I swear to you, it will only have been a terrible dream.”

“And I’ll be right there beside you,” Bilbo told him. “I won’t leave.”

That, Aragorn knew he couldn’t promise either. For if fate could not have the one it wanted, it would just as easily take another life.

And if it could not take Thorin, what was to say that it would not take Bilbo?

His dark thoughts he kept to himself as he, Thorin, Bilbo, Fili, and Gandalf left to find Haldir and go over potential battle plans. Every move, now more than ever, could make the difference between life and death.

 

Lorien had left him feeling peaceful, ten years ago. Even as he’d worried about Bilbo and Uncle and the gold lust, Kili had felt a peace in the forest he’d never expected. It had been with _elves_ , for crying out loud! But he’d still found it.

Then again, his greatest peace was with his husband, his elf. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

He was back in bed, not because he particularly thought he needed it, but because everyone had all but begged him to rest while he could. They were leaving in a few hours, and the ride would be hard on his tired body. Not that Kili particularly cared. No, all he could think about was Erebor and his mother, Dernwyn, and his little niece and nephew, all trapped inside under Caila’s hand. He wished he could’ve struck her when he’d had the chance.

He hadn’t exactly _had_ a chance. He’d barely had enough time to get in front of Bilbo, a choice he would never regret. But if there was one thing he wished he could’ve done in Moria, it would’ve been to strike Caila down.

From behind him, Legolas pulled him closer, and Kili went with no fuss. After having had Legolas beside him but somehow still so far away, he felt greedy, desperate for more. He twined his hand with Legolas’s nearly over the wound. It didn’t hurt as much, now. Whatever the elves had done had left him able to breathe, to walk. He vaguely remembered Galadriel and Gandalf hovering above him, each as bright as the sun, and when he’d awakened, he’d felt more alive than ever before.

And then he’d tried to sit up, and that had sort of ruined the glow. Still, he’d been able to get his feet beneath him, and that was all he cared about. That, and finding Legolas and Fili and Bilbo. That had probably mattered more than his own health. Seeing his uncle alive and _whole_ , when all Kili could remember was pain and Bilbo’s too pale face above him, had been a balm on his soul. Fili breathing and Legolas standing beside him had helped, too.

Then the news about Tauriel and Bard, of Erebor, had dropped on him, outweighing the pure joy of finding them all alive and all right. And it had been so obvious that Legolas had wanted to go with Tauriel that Kili had had to ask.

“You still can,” he found himself saying. “Legolas, if you ever change your mind as I grow older-“

“I’ve made my choice,” Legolas said, his voice gentle but firm. “I will not leave. When you are gone, only then will I take my leave of Arda.” He sounded pained, but he pressed a kiss into Kili’s hair. “Dernwyn phrased it well, in Moria, when we had separated from you and Bilbo. She said that she would rather have one day with Fili, just one day more, than to be parted from him.”

Thinking of his sister _hurt_. The thought of her in Caila’s hands, much as Kili and Bilbo had been, left his stomach rolling. He knew what she was capable of. He knew how mad she was, what she would do. He could only hope that they would find Dernwyn, Dis, the children, and everyone else still whole.

Legolas pulled him back until he was flush against his husband, his back to Legolas’s chest. “I would rather one lifetime with you than be forced to face all the ages alone,” he whispered. Kili shut his eyes and tightened his grasp.

“That lifetime may be shorter than you think-“

“You will _not_ fall in Erebor,” Legolas said. “I will not let you. You will be in Erebor, protected by a multitude of loyal dwarves, Bofur, Esmeralda, and Bilbo. And you will find Dis and Dernwyn to keep you safe as well. I will keep to Fili and Thorin on the field and watch over them. Fate could not take you ten years ago, it will not take you now.”

Kili took a deep breath in, feeling a slight dull throb from his wound before the pain faded. “Do you believe in fate?” he asked softly. “In what Bilbo said?”

Legolas was silent for some time, enough for Kili to shift so he could tilt his head up towards his husband. His elf didn’t seem puzzled or concerned, simply thoughtful, and Kili inadvertently relaxed. As much as he would’ve hated, _loathed_ , watching Legolas disappear from his life, he would have let him go. Somehow, he’d found the strength to say the words he’d despised most, and had even found the strength to mean them.

Then Legolas had taken his hands and banished his fears, and his world had realigned itself.

Finally Legolas spoke, drawing him from his thoughts. “Fate, to me, means that the world must follow a certain course: birth and death are natural forces, as are good and evil. They are changed by choices, but whether those choices are of our own design or by the hand of fate, I do not know.” He paused before saying, “I believe that the world did change, when Bilbo made his small choice. And I believe that one day, everything is fated to fall away. It is partially what made Sauron an abomination: he did not follow fate’s rule, but rather imposed his over fate.”

“That doesn’t mean Bilbo is wrong, though,” Kili said, and Legolas swiftly shook his head.

“No. You heard what he said: the Ring was always meant to be destroyed, battles we fought were meant to happen, and lives were meant to be lost. Bilbo simply…rearranged the order. Suppressed some events to allow others to happen first. What he has changed, what lives were created, spared, or lost due to his twisting of fate, I do not think we will ever know, fully. But I think, so far, it has done a great amount of good, and left us all in a better place.”

Holdred and Hildili, Kili realized with a start, would never have existed if Bilbo hadn’t done what he did. Or would they have? What of Dernwyn? What of his mother, of Erebor, of Legolas? “My head hurts just thinking about it,” he whimpered, rubbing at his temples.

Legolas chuckled and held him closer. “Then do not think about. Think ahead to a future, where you and I will stand alongside Fili and Thorin, Dernwyn and Bilbo, after we have reclaimed Erebor. You and I will go into Mirkwood and clear it once and for all, claim my father’s hall as our own, and return the Greenwood to its rightful status. We will teach Holdred and Hildili to climb trees as elves and dwarves, and listen to Tauriel tease Gimli when he cannot make it past the bottom branches…”

Kili closed his eyes and listened to the future he wanted, _needed_ , letting himself drift off, safe in Legolas’s arms.

 

“You’re not angry with me, are you?”

For a long moment, Bilbo didn’t answer. The trees and leaves were green all around them, and it was better than looking at Thorin. It almost felt as if he was somewhere else, dealing with other things, rather than standing on the cusp of a war that was being led forward by fate. A war that could take his husband and his nephews in one fell swoop.

“Bilbo,” Thorin murmured, and two hands came up to run down his arms. He still wasn’t allowed to move the shoulder as much as he wanted to, but whatever the elves had used to help heal had done a wonderful job.

And there Bilbo was, trying to think of anything except for the question he didn’t want to answer, because it meant thinking about _why_ the question had been posed. It meant he had to think of Thorin in battle. “I knew you were going to go,” Bilbo said quietly. “I knew that. Of course you were going to go to Erebor. I just…I had to tell you. You needed to know.” He almost regretted telling Kili and Fili, as frightened as they’d been about the idea, but they’d deserved to know. Galadriel had encouraged him to tell them, and so he had. He could only hope he hadn’t made the wrong decision.

Thorin planted a kiss to the top of his head. “If ever there was someone who could help me take back Erebor, it would be you. Knowing you’re inside, safe and away from battle, will let me focus, will keep me fighting.”

Bilbo closed his eyes and just let himself feel. The breeze, the sunlight through the trees, his husband behind him, Thorin’s hands running up and down his arms. It was all he wanted. And soon, they were going to leave it all behind to face Caila and Erebor.

There was so much he had left to say to Thorin, a lifetime of things, and he might not get to say them. He felt his next inhale shake, and he forced it out as steadily as he could. He could say some of them, at least. He could say the ones that mattered the most now, here, in this moment, before they left.

Bilbo turned until he was facing Thorin, still in his embrace. “You know,” he began, “you know, if I hadn’t known about the Ring being what it was, I still wouldn’t have left, after…the Arkenstone.” Thorin looked pained at its mention, causing Bilbo to rush on. “The orcs would have gone to Erebor, and I wouldn’t have left.”

He could see it now: him on the battleground, fighting through a thick swath of orcs, men, and elves, all to get to Thorin. Even before he’d seen it in the mirror, he still knew that was what he would’ve done. He still might have to, when they reached Erebor again. And he wouldn’t run.

“I would’ve stood between you and anyone else,” Bilbo said quietly. “I would’ve defended you with everything I had. I would’ve used my words and my riddles as best as I could to keep you safe, and when they failed me, I would’ve used Sting. And when my blade failed, well.” He met Thorin’s eyes surely, feeling nothing but calm truth in his very being as he spoke one more time. “I would’ve stood between you and any danger until I couldn’t stand anymore.”

“And you wonder why I refuse to let you onto the battlefield,” Thorin rasped, gaze haunted. “I will not see you lost for me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Bilbo said, voice hushed but still firm. “I refuse. You’ll have to drag me away yourself, and in the end I’d still get what I wanted because then you were away from harm, too.”

Thorin looked as if Bilbo had gutted him. Bilbo caught Thorin’s hands, taking them and pressing them to his own chest. “If you’re not there,” he said softly, “then this won’t beat. You might as well let me stand beside you: the outcome’s just the same. I’ll get inside Erebor, but I’m coming right back out.”

“Please do not do this,” Thorin begged. “The thought of you in battle strikes terror into my heart that not even the Black Gates of Mordor could put there.” He began to speak again, then stopped, swallowing roughly. “You are _my_ heart,” he said, his voice wrecked. “It is I who must stand between you and danger. Legolas is not the only one who will fall if his husband does.”

It seemed they would always come back to this thought, of protecting one another, but where it had once left him annoyed it now left him comforted and determined to stand by his husband. “I will do the same for you, every time,” Bilbo replied. He would do it now, too, _could_ do it. Had done it, even, and even as his heart ached at the thought of having taken a life without pause, the thought of losing Thorin all but made his soul _scream_. Gandalf had once told him that true courage came not from taking a life, but knowing when to spare one.

He’d known not to spare Rutar. Not a second time, when his husband’s life had been on the line.

Thorin rested his forehead against Bilbo’s, the well-known gesture a comfort. “Know that I will stand between you and any danger,” Thorin swore. “You are my Bilbo, my beloved.”

His husband, his brave and powerful and adoring Thorin. Bilbo didn’t speak again to offer the same promise. It hung between them, unspoken but still there. He would follow Thorin into battle, and if it came down to it, he would stand between Thorin and any danger. He would’ve done it ten years ago, and he would do it now. Even if it cost him his own life.

Bilbo couldn’t think of a better way to finish his life. Sixty years was young, barely over half of his life lived, but he’d lived more than any other hobbit had already. He had a husband, nephews, a grand niece and nephew, a sister, and that was simply by his marriage. The dwarves he knew he counted as kin, now, as much as he did Legolas, Tauriel, and Dernwyn.

If it came to it, he would die for them. And he would die readily.

As if sensing his thoughts, Thorin pulled him in impossibly closer until their noses brushed. Bilbo let all his focus move to his distraught husband. There were no words of comfort he could give: they’d all be lies, and Bilbo wasn’t prone to lying to Thorin. He sat in silence, instead, holding on to his husband and sharing breaths with him.

That was how Dwalin found them, much later, still pressed nose to nose, clinging to one another. The dwarf cleared his throat, and as one they turned to him. “We’re ready,” Dwalin said, almost reluctantly.

It took Thorin a moment to find his voice. “Then we ride,” he said, his voice shredded as if he’d been weeping. Perhaps he had and Bilbo hadn’t noticed. He squeezed Thorin’s hand and felt a firm grasp in return.

“To Erebor,” Bilbo said, and Thorin gave a low nod.

“To Erebor.”

 

It was a large group that set forth from Lorien that day. Haldir led the elves on their horses, riding out into the plains. Horses went also to the company, who rode in a tight formation, fearing the future without those around them and not daring to voice such fears out loud. Éomund sent a raven flying east, in the hopes of sending word to the riding Rohirrim of what had transpired. Another raven was sent to Edoras, to tell the people of Rohan of potential danger at their borders. Who knew how the mind of a madwoman worked? For if she had taken Dale and Erebor, she could just as easily strike out again elsewhere.

From the forests of Lorien, Tauriel watched them go, solemn and still. Galadriel stood beside her, seeing so much more than the other elf ever could. Fate continued to weave a new fabric, strands pulling this way and that, all to tie into the lives of those who rode now for Erebor. Bilbo had torn it all asunder ten years ago, had demanded his own crafting, and fate had given in.

Now, however, fate might not be denied. For it had a purpose, a plan, a design, and even the strong will of Bilbo Baggins, Ringbearer, might not be enough to change it again.

“Can you see, what will happen?” Tauriel finally dared to ask. “When they pass beyond our vision?”

Galadriel kept her eyes on the travelers. “No,” she said at last. “I cannot. Fate can be set aside only so many times.” And she feared that there would be no holding back what fate would do this time.

Would that they remained safe, if just for the sake of her small, dear friend. For even if they fell and Bilbo did not, she feared it would be the end of the little hobbit, all the same.


	26. Facing fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caila has come to Erebor to subjugate its people and deliver her sentence upon Dernwyn, Dis, and the children.
> 
> Except she's not the only one with Erebor in her sights.
> 
> Fate, too, has come to the Mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crazy crazy weekend. Had hoped to have this posted on Friday and...that sort of didn't happen. That's what happens when you have a wedding and a funeral in one weekend. On top of other things.
> 
> Have a chapter.

There was literally no warning. One minute, they were quietly reading to the children, and the next, they were surrounded by thieves. Dernwyn began to stand, only to have Dis grab her and pull her back into the chair. Holdred and Hildili immediately slid back against Dernwyn’s chair. Only when the last figure entered the room did Dernwyn slowly started to breathe.

She was beautiful. She looked as if she’d been carved from stone, a perfect statue that fit no norms that Dernwyn could recall. Her hair was long and light, looking silken and smooth, but her shoulders were broad and her ears were rounded. Her neck was short, her face was fair, and she stood taller than Dis or Dernwyn would.

This was Caila. There was no mistake there.

Green eyes roamed over them, then fell to the children. Instinctively Dernwyn slid forward in her seat to hide them, and she watched as the woman’s lips turned up. “A mother to the core,” she said, and her voice was light and airy, almost melodic. “Protecting your children. I admire that.” She stepped forward and Dernwyn decided subtlety was a lost art. She caught both of her children by the shoulders and hauled them behind the chair. Three thieves moved towards them, but Caila held up her hand. “Peace. I have no intention of having the children come to harm. No matter their blood, I would not see a child harmed. I am no monster, like those who held my mixed blood against me.”

That, Dernwyn would have words about, but she kept them trapped behind her locked jaw. If Caila wasn’t going to harm them, then Dernwyn would take what little favors she could.

“I actually have need of you and your children,” she said. “They would help accentuate my point quite nicely. I also have need of you,” and she turned to Dis. Dernwyn’s hand clutched fruitlessly for a weapon. “You have a way into the treasure vault, do you not?”

Dis didn’t say a word. Caila didn’t look perturbed at her silence: she actually looked as if she were enjoying herself. “You really do have a formidable spirit,” the woman mused, smiling. “A true heir of Durin himself. Well done.” Then she raised her hand and struck, sending Dis’s head spinning to the side.

Lili whimpered and hid her face in Holdred’s tunic. Holdred stared, as if unable to look away, and there was a fire smoldering in his gaze. Dis, for her part, slowly brought her head back to center. She caught blood at the edge of her mouth with her thumb, then merely raised her eyes to Caila, as if silently questioning the woman. Dernwyn could all but _hear_ her asking, _Is that it?_

Caila gave a bright laugh, but there was something in her eyes that Dernwyn really didn’t like. She was far too clever, far too calculating, and whatever she wanted, Dernwyn had no doubt she would get it, in one manner or another. “A child of Durin indeed,” she said, and then her bright smile suddenly disappeared. “I can move to your child next, Dis, daughter of Thrain. As I do not have your other children, but I do have this one, I will take it out on her. Whether her children watch or not is up to them.” She moved towards Dernwyn, and Dernwyn pushed Holdred fully behind the seat, hoping that whatever Caila did, it wouldn’t be seen. She’d be _damned_ if she made a sound. Even when Caila pulled out a short blade, Dernwyn met her gaze and didn’t falter.

“What do you want with the Treasury?”

Caila paused and swung herself back to Dis in a lazy circle. Dis gave a short shake of her head when Dernwyn frowned at her. She could handle it, she could. Anything this woman sent her way, Dernwyn could handle.

It was a relief, though, to watch the blade disappear, and she didn’t realize how hard her heart had been pounding until it was all she could hear.

“I seek a ring,” she said. “The ring from the line of Durin. There were seven rings total, gifted to the dwarves. Your father had one.”

“There is no ring of power in the Treasury,” Dis said, sounding as confused as she looked. “If my father had it, it was lost with him.”

“Oh, I know,” Caila said, startling Dernwyn. She twirled the dagger in between her fingers before neatly sliding it back into its little sheath at her hip. “I had simply hoped to add it to my collection. But there are other things in the Treasury that belong to me. Like a crown. And the heart of the mountain. Trinkets, really, but they do all go to the ruler of Erebor, do they not?”

Dernwyn wasn’t certain how Dis was remaining as calm as she was, or as stone-faced. Either way, she was grateful for it, and more grateful still that Caila was watching her and not Dernwyn, because Dernwyn most certainly wasn’t keeping her emotions off her face. Her outrage and shock were there for all to see. So it was true: she wanted to rule supreme over Erebor.

Before Dernwyn or Dis could say anything, however, a smaller voice spoke up. “You can’t be ruler,” Lili said, scowling at Caila. “Unkin’s the ruler. Ev’body knows that.”

Holdred grabbed her and tried to pull her behind him, but it was too late. Caila’s attention was on Lili solely, and she smiled what would’ve been a beautiful, friendly smile if Dernwyn hadn’t known better. “Your uncle’s not here, though,” she said. “And he won’t be coming back. Someone has to sit on the throne, dear little one. And I have as much right as anyone else.” She rummaged in her pouch for a moment, then pulled out a small biscuit. “Would you like to be ruler after me?” she asked, and she held out her hand.

Hildili looked at the biscuit for a moment. Then she promptly crossed her arms and glared at Caila. “No _thank_ you.” She quickly uncrossed her arms to wrap them around Holdred, who held on and pushed her a little behind him.

For the first time since she’d arrived, Caila looked surprised. Dernwyn was fairly certain she’d been expecting Hildili to bend to her machinations, to quickly agree for the sake of the treat. She almost looked _hurt_ , and the mother in her briefly felt for the child she’d been, one who’d obviously been judged based on her heritage and blood.

Then Dernwyn let herself remember Balin, remember that she was here and her children were cowering between her and Dis and Fili could be dead because of this woman, and all of her sympathy vanished in a split second.

Caila retracted the hand and the biscuit, tossing the latter into the flames of the hearth and using the former to pull a long sword from the thief nearest her. She immediately leveled the tip at Dernwyn’s throat, and Dernwyn stopped breathing. Slowly Caila swung her gaze to Dis, who was clutching the chair so hard Dernwyn was afraid she’d snap the arms. “Are you coming with me?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Or am I going to have to do this the hard way?”

Dis looked so absolutely torn that Dernwyn wanted to scream that she would die, she would die and gladly, if just to stop Dis from capitulating to Caila’s demands.

Caila pressed the tip a little more into Dernwyn’s throat. “Know that I can do this with or without you quite easily. I’d much rather do it with your assistance, however. It’s your decision,” she said, her voice angry now.

Leaving Dernwyn’s potential blood on Dis’s hands. And that, that Dis would never allow, and they all knew it.

Dis stood from her chair, still looking every bit the regal princess, even as Caila moved her about like a pawn on a game table. “No, wait,” Dernwyn said when the thieves caught Dis by the arms and began moving her to the door.

“No need,” Caila said, sliding the sword back into the thief’s sheath. “You’re coming with. Your little ones, too. You can either bring them with you, or I’ll have my men take them. I may be willing to spare them, but I’m not going to suffer tardiness or foolishness. Your choice.”

Dernwyn stood to her full height, finding with some satisfaction that Caila wasn’t as tall as she first appeared. She brought Holdred and Hildili in front of her, making a circle with her arms and wrapping them in it, then meeting Caila’s gaze evenly. _Your move._

Caila turned and left the room, eyes already set on a different prize. Dis went out behind her, and thankfully, the thieves merely flanked Dernwyn and never made a move to touch her or the children. On their way out, she stole a glance at Hril, who stood beside the door, never moving. His gaze was locked ahead, but his grip on the hilt of his sword was tight. Whatever Caila was doing, he hadn’t been privy to it.

“Move,” one of the thieves ordered, and Dernwyn followed them down the hall. The halls were empty, surprisingly enough, despite Dernwyn having been told by Dis that they’d been filled with captive dwarves and Aragorn’s men. The halls now were completely devoid of any life, however, and they continued walking on.

Noise began to filter in when they approached the front gate. Shouts and jeers came through first, and when they finally entered the main entryway of the mountain, high above on one of the upper paths, it was readily apparent as to why.

It seemed as if every single dwarf had been brought into the room, crammed together impossibly tight. There were thieves _everywhere_ , tucked into corners and anywhere they could stand, weapons out and every eye watching the dwarves. Everyone turned to Dernwyn, Dis, and the children when they entered, the dwarves watching them from the ground, and Dernwyn wished she could say _something_. Anything to comfort them. But there was nothing she could do, and when the thief behind her gave her a harder shove, she almost lost her grip on her children. The dwarves below went completely silent, almost startling the thieves, and Dernwyn realized they were all staring at Holdred and Hildili in silent fear.

She was very good at ransoming people and things, Dernwyn realized, as she looked to where Caila was still striding towards the gate. That’s what they were, now: they were pawns to be ransomed to the people of Erebor.

Dernwyn’s fingers _ached_ for her father’s blade.

They were on top of the gate before she knew it, high above the people gathered in the hall. Dernwyn couldn’t help but look out at the field behind her, the first time she’d seen it since she returned to Erebor days and days ago. The field was empty, no farmers anywhere, and the city of Dale was silent in the distance. Her stomach twisted, and she forced her attention to return to Caila.

She looked like a great predator, slinking slowly to the edge that Dernwyn wished she could push her off of. Dis looked to be having similar thoughts, but with the children in her arms, and several children in the crowd below, she didn’t dare. Still, the thought was a nice one.

“People of Erebor,” Caila began. She held her arms out, as if to welcome them. “I call you as my own! For too long you have suffered under the reign of a monarch that would diminish our great people. We are dwarves, _I_ am a dwarf of good blood, one who would lead you from these dark times into the light!”

She waved her arm back towards Dernwyn and Dis and the children. “They have mistreated you. They have put children of mixed bloodlines before you, you who are true dwarves! You do not deserve this.”

Her voice was the only sound in the hall. Holdred shifted uncomfortably in front of her, and Dernwyn clutched him even closer, all but burying Lili into her dress. If she had a way to send her children safely down the wall, she would do it. She could let them sneak under her dress and to the wall, to one of the ropes there. She could get them out-

And where would they go? Where could she send them that was safe? Her sudden burst of hope sank like a rock.

“However, I understand that you may feel a certain fondness for them. For that, I’m afraid things will get a bit…difficult.”

Dernwyn froze. Caila glanced at her, eyes gleaming even in the slight sunlight hiding behind the clouds, then turned back to the dwarves below. “If you hold true to them, then I will be forced to remove them from Erebor. Permanently. How it’s done is up to you. I can let them remain in the mountain amongst you, upon hearing your oaths of fealty. Or I can toss them over the edge of this wall if I hear any supporters for them. What shall it be?”

Out of the crowd, Dernwyn suddenly caught sight of Dori. He looked filthy and bedraggled, nowhere close to his usually pristine self, but he was alive. His eyes were locked on her, wide and fearful, and Dernwyn shook her head just enough. _Don’t stand for us. Please._ She would have given her life in a heartbeat, and Dis would have as well, before either of them would swear loyalty to _her_.

But for her children, Dernwyn would bend her knee to Caila. For them, she would do anything.

“Now, there are more dwarves within this mountain than are standing here, so I want you to send them the message. Every loyal subject seen bowing before me will leave me in…a much more gracious mood when it comes time to sentence the line of Durin. I will ask all of you first: what will your answer be? And I _am_ expecting an answer now.”

Not a dwarf spoke, but all of their eyes were on Dernwyn, Dis, and the children. Dis dared to step closer to Dernwyn, and the children looked as if they wanted to reach out for her. Dernwyn was terrified her grip on their arms was going to leave bruises, but she couldn’t let them go. If she did, she knew without a doubt she’d lose them.

Suddenly a shout came from a thief above the gate. His eyes were turned outside of Erebor, and they were wide and baffled. “My queen, there’s a fire approachin’ on the wind,” he said. Caila quickly whipped her head around, and Dernwyn found herself helpless to not do the same.

There in the distance was indeed a massive flame, soaring into the sky, leaving behind a trail that Dernwyn would’ve almost said looked like a firework. Then it suddenly grew, taller and stretching further and further until it looked like wings. She blinked, because those _were_ wings, and a head lifted from the flames, and it was impossible, but it was most certainly a-

“Dragon,” the thief stammered, eyes wide, and the dwarves below began to murmur fearfully. “Th-That’s a _dragon_!”

Dernwyn stared. Because that was, without a doubt, a dragon. It only continued to grow until it was nearly all she could see, red and flaming, full of sparks and fire and moving at a rapid pace towards Erebor. And when it bellowed, its roar shook the sky, and flames poured from its mouth.

Then her eyes caught a small line beyond the dragon, taking over the horizon. It was a growing shape of fast moving figures, all running towards the mountain. Even from her distance, Dernwyn knew the shape of a multitude of horses, and hope began to soar. Behind the dragon were the edged flags she knew so well, of the Horse Lords of Rohan, and beside them ran a large red banner, billowing in the wind. The Ereborian red flag of war.

 _Fili_.

“Uncle!” Holdred shouted, having also figured it out. “ _Papa_!”

Hildili stuck her head out of Dernwyn’s gown to glare at Caila, who looked to be in shock. “I told you, Unkin’s the ruler,” she said stoutly.

Everything suddenly began to happen at once. The dwarves, having heard the news, had only begun to move forward when they were being shoved back into one of the inner halls. “Get them out of here,” Caila snapped, and Dernwyn was all but dragged back through the upper halls towards the royal chambers. Holdred and Hildili fought to stay with her at the punishing pace, and Dis was right behind her, helping to keep the children between them. Up the stairs, through the doors, past a startled Hril and then they were thrown into their room.

“The queen needs aid on the field!” one of the thieves yelled just before slamming the door shut for the first time since they’d been captured. It would do no good, the doors had no locks on them, but the message was a clear one: do not attempt to leave.

Which was sad for them, because Dernwyn was fairly certain they were escaping, _now_.

Dis ran to the door and knocked three times. There was no answer. “Hril?” Dis called, and Dernwyn suddenly feared for the dwarf. Had he been taken with the other thieves to fight? Were they trapped with a thief?

The door slammed open, nearly catching Dis, and it was Hril, dropping blankets on the floor. They made a clanging sound as they did so, and wrapped within them were their blades. “Get ready,” Hril told them. “We’re leavin’ as swift as we can, soon as the others can secure the passageway.”

“Us, too?” Hildili asked, and Dernwyn nodded.

“We’re all leaving. Holdred, get your grandmother’s cloak.” And she’d never been happier to leave their quarters than now.

She had a husband to find and help on the field.

 

Fili had to admit, the fireworks _had_ been impressive.

“Do it again!” Nori yelled as they charged down the field. Gandalf, riding his own horse, still managed to give the dwarf a narrowed gaze.

“I will not _do it again_ , as you put it. It took everything I could to create a firework of that magnitude and power in the first place!”

It still lingered, even now, high above them in the air. It was more of a condensed ball now, though, and it was rolling towards Erebor. A little bit too quickly for Fili’s tastes.

Apparently for his uncle’s tastes, too. “If that plows into the very mountain we’re trying to liberate, Gandalf,” Thorin warned, and then suddenly it exploded, and all Fili could see was bright light. Sparks flew _everywhere_ , the explosion nearly as great as the mountain itself, and Fili could feel it in his very bones. Yet his horse continued racing forward, unafraid, and Fili pulled his sword from its sheath. When he could hear again, it was to the sound of his uncle leading the battle cry. Fili lent his voice, and they became a roar greater than any dragon ever could have made.

They made better time down the field than he’d anticipated, the dragon having apparently done its job in startling the thieves and keeping them back. They had barely crossed onto the main path to Erebor when there was a surge of activity from the front gates. Out in front, a ragtag army of great numbers screamed and raced towards them, and behind the front line, Fili could see a tall blonde woman standing on a makeshift battle cart. Her hair flew behind her as she urged her army onward, and Fili felt his blood boil.

 _Caila_.

He would have her head. He would have as many heads as his blade would allow, for taking his home, his children, his beautiful Dernwyn from him. And he was going to get them back.

There was always a breath, right before the plunge into battle. Everything seemed to mute to a buzz in his ears as the army drew closer and closer. Time seemed to slow as his eyes picked out those approaching him. Three men, one dwarf, and more behind them. Caila was off to the center with a man whose dark hair stayed tied neatly behind him. The man from the forest.

And then the world came rushing back and his blade swung down. Two of the men dropped, Nori taking out the dwarf and other man, and then Fili’s only focus came down to those sweeping in towards them. Few of the thieves were on horses, and they were easily dealt with.

They were almost to the gates. If they could sweep the army from behind, this battle would be over before it had barely begun.

 _Kili, hurry_.

Above them, far beyond his notice, the sun behind the clouds slowly started to shift, and the shadow of Erebor began to move over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters are MASSIVE. Like, cannot cut them anywhere. Be prepared. They're thousands of words of feels.


	27. For Erebor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate has come to Erebor.
> 
> It all comes down to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm giving you an angst warning. With the tissues. And shock blankets.
> 
> When I wrote this, I had to get up and walk away from it a few times. This was hard to write.
> 
> Please keep in mind this isn't the end and there's still more to come. And that's all I can give you.

“Well, that was easy,” Bofur said after a moment. Bilbo was hard pressed to argue with him.

They’d intended to sneak into Erebor through the doors that the Guard used, but there had been thieves there, far too many to deal with. They’d pressed on, intending to dart across the stables doors, only to find it was empty. A few horses had neighed at them, and no thieves had come forward. So they’d slipped inside through the stables, and had found themselves in an empty hallway, devoid of life or sound. After they’d crept along the hallway, they’d entered one of the larger halls…only to find it deserted. Not a single thief had remained.

Had they all left the mountain?

“There have to be thieves where they’re keeping the dwarves and Aragorn’s men,” Bilbo began, only to fall to his knees when a large explosion rocked the mountain. From the right, towards the front gates, he could make out a bright light, and then it was gone. He shook himself and got back onto his feet. His ankle protested, and he promptly ignored it.

“Do I even want to know what that was?” Esmeralda asked.

“The ‘dragon’, I have to assume.” Though he hadn’t been expecting it to _explode_. Thorin was most likely having a fit.

The thought of his husband bolstered Bilbo into moving. “Dernwyn and the children first,” he said firmly. “Then we’ll find the others.”

A loud commotion to the left, deeper into Erebor, caught their attention. Quickly they crept behind one of the large pillars in the hall and watched as two thieves hurried down the main hallway. When no others appeared, Bilbo dared to creep out and follow them. Esmeralda gave a huff behind him and hurried to join him, and then they were all racing after the thieves. Through the next hall to the main corridor of Erebor, and Bilbo watched the thieves dart off to the right, one of the smaller halls close to the kitchen. The sound only increased, shouts and angry calls catching the attention of all in the main corridor, and up close, Bilbo could make out individual voices. Specifically, _one_ particular voice that he could’ve wept to hear.

“You let us out right now, and if you harm a _hair_ on their heads, I’ll-!”

“Hold the door!” one of the thieves yelled over Dori, and the two thieves they’d followed joined the other three in pushing the door shut. Beyond the door, Bilbo could only see dwarves and even more dwarves, all shoving back against the door as best they could. The thieves had the advantage, however, with a large chain thrown across the door, wrapped around the massive handles, and while the dwarves could’ve gotten through underneath it, it wasn’t going to happen with the thieves standing there.

“Allow me,” Bofur said, giving Bilbo a quick bow, and then he was moving over to the doors. He all but _sauntered_ over, and Esmeralda clapped a hand to her mouth to suppress her giggles when he delicately tapped one of the thieves on the shoulder.

The thief whirled around, obviously expecting more aid, then frowned when he had to look down at Bofur. “Hello,” Bofur greeted pleasantly, right before he socked the man in the jaw. The thief dropped like a stone, and even as the other thieves turned, they took their attention off of the doors for just a moment. Just one moment.

And it was enough.

“ _Go_!” Dori shouted, and the doors pressed out under the force of the dwarves. Even as Bilbo moved in, one of the thieves running towards him, Kili, and Esmeralda, the chain around the door handles _snapped_ , and dwarves came streaming out. Under the onslaught, the thieves fell, and the one thief who’d dared to try for Bilbo found himself on the ground, courtesy of Esmeralda and a nearby flag she’d found to sweep his legs out from under him.

Choruses of Bilbo’s name, Kili’s name, all came in a great number of shouts, and there went the element of surprise. No matter: they’d surprised the thieves once, it would have to do. “Where are the others?” Bilbo yelled above the din, and the commotion died down.

“Everyone’s locked up in various parts of Erebor,” said Dori as he pushed himself to the front. “Where are Ori and Nori?”

“Out on the battlefield,” Kili said. “Where we’re going after we get Dernwyn, my mother, and the children.”

“I’m going with you, then,” Dori said grimly. “I’ve a score to settle. I think they ushered them all back to the royal chambers.”

“Ushered?” Bilbo asked, almost fearing the answer.

Dori shook his head, though, and Bilbo breathed. “Caila brought them out as a demonstration. She said we either bowed to her or she’d throw them over the gates. Then there was fire and a _dragon_ , and how did you get a dragon?”

“Later,” Kili insisted. “Uncle needs aid on the field.”

Dwarves began to surge forward, and Bilbo quickly halted them from going further down the main corridor. “Some of you need to free the others,” he said. “They need all the help they can get.”

From the group came Valdr, and his father Nadr right beside him. “We’ll go,” he said, and several dwarves rumbled in agreement.

“Move swift,” one of the dwarves growled. “I’ve a need to bash in heads. _No one_ holds our princesses and heirs hostage. _No one_.”

Bilbo couldn’t have agreed more. Valdr was already racing off deeper into Erebor, dwarves trailing behind him, and the rest of the dwarves pushed out into the main corridor. “Come on,” Kili urged, and Bilbo raced for the nearest hallway that would take them up. Higher and higher they climbed, and the sounds of fighting below them grew until they reached the high path to the royal chambers. Only then did Bilbo look down.

Thousands of dwarves were pouring out from various halls, racing for the front gates. Amongst them were Aragorn’s men, all armed once more, and by their side were the Guards. In their ranks, Bilbo made out Bifur and Dril, both leading the way with rage on their faces.

He could never say exactly what made him do it, but in that moment, his ankle, his fear for Thorin, none of it mattered as much as calling out to the dwarves. Bilbo flew out to the edge of the path, within plain sight as they made for the gates. “For your king!” he shouted, raising his hand and Sting high. The dwarves below, having seen and heard him, shouted back in a battle cry.

His pulse pounded through him, his veins singing with adrenaline and the urge to _fight_ , to take back their kingdom, to help Thorin. Their people were freed now, and Caila wasn’t going to know what hit her. No one, not even Eru, could help her now.

Breath coming in harsh pants, he swung his sword towards the gates and yelled, “For Erebor!”

“ _For Erebor!_ ” they screamed below, and with a loud and hearty yell they flew through the hallways. Dril and Bifur watched him until Bilbo gave a sharp nod. _Find Thorin_. Protecting him and Fili was the important part. Bilbo had more than enough dwarves with him now to keep him safe.

“Uncle,” Kili said, and Bilbo rejoined them, Sting tight in his grasp. Dori, despite looking as weary and messy as he was, still charged up the stairs first, bursting through the first door with a strength Bilbo had nearly forgotten about. It’d been a long time since he’d seen Dori in battle. They kept climbing and making their way through until they were in the hallway of the royal chambers.

And right there, in front of the main room’s door, stood a dwarf, his spear standing on end. A thief, guarding the prisoners, and Bilbo gripped his sword tighter even as Dori bared his teeth. Bofur _growled_ , and the dwarf looked startled at their appearance, spear coming up in a defensive move. Bilbo was moving before he knew it, Sting a very visible threat in front of him.

“Wait!”

Bilbo froze as Dernwyn and Dis, safe and whole, raced out from behind the dwarf. “Wait, wait, _wait_ ,” Dernwyn said, panting. “Hril’s on our side.”

“He’s Dril’s cousin,” Dis continued. “He worked with the thieves to get inside and help us.”

From behind them, two little faces appeared, and they yelled in glee as they flew out towards him, dropping a heavy cloak as they did so. Bilbo let Sting fall from his fingers in favor of catching Holdred and Hildili, safe and alive and not even touched. They were like a balm to his heart, and he forced sudden tears back by shutting his eyes tight. They were safe, they were _safe_.

Bofur was already wrapping himself around Dernwyn and holding onto her as tightly as he could. Dis pushed past them all and practically lifted Kili off the floor, murmuring soft things in his ear that left him clinging to her. Dori managed a quick wave of his hand to Hril, which the dwarf returned with a brief nod.

As far as rescues went, this one was going pretty well.

“Where’s Papa?” Holdred asked, catching everyone’s attention. “Uncle, where’s Papa?”

“And Unkin?” Hildili asked. “Where are they? Are they with the mean lady?”

“If Mahal is gracious, then yes, she’s with them, and won’t be for much longer,” Bofur said with a glare in the gates’ direction. “We can only hope to be so lucky.”

“Good,” Holdred said viciously. “She tried to be the ruler.”

“Unkin’s the ruler,” Hildili said, as if she’d been saying it over and over again and was weary of it. “ _Everyone_ knows that.”

They did now. “We need to get downstairs and out onto the field,” Bilbo said. He quickly put Sting back in its sheath. “Hril, was it?”

“It is, my liege,” Hril said. Up close, it was obvious now who his family was, and there was a relief to be had, that someone was on their side, and someone had been looking out for Dis, Dernwyn, and the children. “My cousin, was he freed?”

“And heading for the gates,” Dori said. “Where I’d like to be.”

“Aye, and I with you,” Hril said. He tightened his grip on his spear and gave another nod.

“Then let’s go,” Holdred said. He got two steps down the hallway before Bofur plucked him up into the air and kept his feet wiggling to move. “Uncle Bo!”

But Bofur was already depositing him back behind Dis. “Nope, sorry. You’re not comin’ with us.”

“I can fight!”

And he would, Bilbo didn’t have a single doubt about that. Lili also looked ready to cause trouble, her ever present Smaug hanging from her grasp and just waiting to wallop someone about the head.

“Where are they supposed to go, then?” Dernwyn asked. “Because Dis and I are both heading onto the field.”

“I’ll keep watch,” Hril said. “I’m maintain’ the wall.”

“I’m not going back out there,” Esmeralda said after a moment. “I’ll stay with them. We’ll keep watch from inside.”

That seemed to decide Bofur as well. “Then we’ll all stay inside,” he said, and he took Holdred’s hand in his again. Hildili went straight to Esmeralda, but she didn’t shy away from Hril, either. Hril gave her a grin that looked everything like Dril’s smile, and she eagerly returned it.

Then again, there were days Bilbo was certain she would’ve smiled at an orc. Knowing now that she’d been very unappreciative of Caila gave him hope that perhaps she wasn’t quite willing to make friends with _everyone_ who came her way. Holdred was much more reserved, but ever polite, ever faithful. They’d make good rulers one day.

Not that he’d probably live to see it: age was going to be a key factor there. And if they didn’t get outside to help in the battle that continued to increase in volume, the little ones wouldn’t _have_ a throne to take one day.

“Let’s go!” Kili urged, as if feeling the same way, and they raced down the hallway to the stairs, down through the smaller hall, down _those_ stairs, and through to the main room. Fighting below made Bilbo stop short at the next flight of stairs, and he watched as thieves battled with the dwarves inside of Erebor. It seemed that they were winning, and suddenly dwarves amongst the ranks of the thieves turned and began fighting their own, much to the cheer of the Ereborians.

“My men,” Hril said proudly. “Been a long time comin’. They’ll clear a path for us, if we need to go that way.”

Still not a safe place to wade the children through. “We’ll take the higher path,” Dis said. “Straight to the gates.” And then they were off again.

Hril somehow managed to get in front of them all, spear at the ready. A thief suddenly emerged from the shadows with a mighty bellow, and with one sweep of his spear Hril sent the thief tumbling down into the halls below, into the mad fighting. He barely paused in his efforts, and he certainly hadn’t broken a sweat thus far.

This was Dril’s cousin, that was for certain.

They reached the gates without any further issues, and only then did Bilbo get a look out at the real battle. Hundreds of dwarves continued to pour out of the front gates to lend aid, but after that, keeping sight of them was difficult.

There were _thousands_ of beings out in the field. He could vaguely make out a few Rohirrim still on horses, and the orcs were always obvious. Caila, too, he thought he saw, blonde hair whipping in the wind, but there were the elves of Lorien as well, so it was hard to tell. Dwarves and men, orcs and elves, all of them on the battlefield. The noise was enough to make him want to cover his ears, so great was the roar. There were screams and clanging sounds as weapons met, and the field was muddy and dark. There were numerous fallen, and it turned his stomach.

Somewhere, down there, was his husband. Legolas, Fili, Dwalin and Ori, Nori and Gimli, Aragorn and Haldir, they were all there. And hopefully, if fate hadn’t been cruel enough to deliver its final blow yet, they still stood.

“Come on!” Dori shouted, already heading for the stairwell down to the gates. Dernwyn was flying out after him, Dis right behind her, and, seeing his chance, Kili fled after them before anyone could say anything. Bilbo pursed his lips and pushed off after the group. If he thought he was going to go out into that mess being as injured as he was, Kili had another thing-

Bofur was suddenly there, standing right in front of him, and Bilbo frowned. “Bofur, move,” he said, and his frown only deepened when Bofur shook his head. “What are you doing?”

Bofur tugged his hat down a little more, and his bit his lip, looking nine types of remorseful. “Sorry,” he said.

Thorin. “He told you to keep me in Erebor,” Bilbo said. Of course his husband would. Because Thorin had to at least try.

Well, that was all he was going to do. “Bofur, please don’t make me order you to move,” Bilbo said. Never mind the fact that Thorin’s word was technically stronger than Bilbo’s. It didn’t matter. Bilbo was here and Thorin wasn’t.

“I can’t let you through the gates,” Bofur said. Then he jerked his head towards the side, and Bilbo frowned. “Sorry, Bilbo. Truly am. But I’ve been given orders not to let you _through the gates_.”

Bilbo followed his gaze to the wall above the gates. Ten years ago, he’d been dangled over the edge of the mountain, neck in Thorin’s grasp, pleading for his life. He remembered the drop, and he didn’t remember it fondly. Even though the throne room was further off to another side of the mountain, Bilbo knew how far down it was.

It didn’t matter. “Thank you,” he said. Bofur gave him a quick nod. Rope by the edge caught his attention: the emergency rope for the Guard, in order to descend over the gate wall. He caught one firmly, then forced himself to look over the edge and straight down.

Oh sweet Eru. That was a _very_ long way down. He swallowed hard and forced himself to push his Baggins side down somewhere very, _very_ deep, somewhere it couldn’t even see how far down he was about to go. Unfortunately, his Tookish side wasn’t entirely certain about the drop, either.

He glanced back at Esmeralda, who stood with Holdred and Hildili in her arms. Hril was right behind her, spear at the ready to defend them, and Bofur quickly moved to join them. “Good luck,” Esmeralda said.

He was going to need it. “Right,” he said, and then he pushed himself over the top of the wall and fell. Down, down he went, his stomach in his throat, that terrible prickly feeling of falling without a stop, the speed pushing against him and sending his hair flying. He clutched the rope so hard he thought he’d cut his hands, and then he was almost at the bottom.

Where an orc was waiting.

Bilbo gave himself enough time for the rope to come to a halt before he let go and dropped onto the orc. It hadn’t been expecting him to do so, hoping to pull him off itself more likely, and it received another nasty surprise when he shoved Sting up through its gut. The blade was a vibrant blue, as bright and glowing as it had been in Mordor, and Bilbo shoved those thoughts away.

He had a husband to find.

 

As soon as Kili could, he ducked away from his mother and took off to the right of the battle. His bow he kept tight in his grasp, and he tugged his cloak off to reach for his quiver. He’d promised to let a few arrows loose, and he was going to do so now. He had to find Legolas.

A hand caught his arm, and he nearly sent an arrow flying when his eyes registered Dernwyn’s furious face. “You should _not_ be down here,” she began.

“Too late,” he said. She glared at him. He glared back. “Are we going to find Fili and Legolas or not?”

They’d been a menace on the battlefield once. They would be again. Especially now that they had fate hanging over them like a swinging blade, ready to fall on them whenever it so desired.

Not that Dernwyn needed to know that. And it was nothing Kili needed to think about, either.

“Fine,” Dernwyn bit out. “Move, and quickly.”

Words Kili liked the best. “He wouldn’t leave Fili or Uncle, I know it,” he said. Thank Mahal Bofur was keeping Bilbo back inside Erebor. Of course, _Kili_ was supposed to be back in Erebor as well, but he didn’t care. He had people to find.

They ran together, bow and blade at the ready, moving closer and closer to the shadow hanging from the mountain.

 

“Hold, you will _hold_!” Aragorn shouted in Sindarin. The elves stood silent, their bows at the ready from the edge, waiting for the thieves to come their way. “Gandalf, now,” he murmured. It was unrealistic for him to imagine that the wizard could hear him, but stranger things had happened before.

Not a minute after the battle had begun, Aragorn and Haldir had immediately swung to the left, riding along the edge of the army. They’d cut down any who’d tried to advance on them, but had focused primarily on keeping the army contained. The thieves hadn’t understood their tactics, for they had the mountain and all the space beside: they didn’t need to go to the sides.

And then the dwarves of Erebor had emerged, and the thieves had suddenly needed somewhere to go.

The thieves continued to march onward. Not a single elf moved, but Aragorn could all but feel their confusion. “Hold,” he ordered again. In his head, he could hear Gandalf’s parting words to him before the wizard had ridden off to the opposite side of the battle.

“ _When you see my sign, know then that you should do battle, and swiftly.”_

Suddenly a huge flame rose from the other side of the battle, a firework that blazed into the sky. It sent thieves racing away from the flames towards Aragorn and the waiting archers. There was no better sign than that. “ _Now!_ ” he shouted, and hundreds of arrows were loosed all at once. They soared through the air, each one striking true, and the first lines fell instantly. The thieves behind them faltered, anxious to avoid a potential dragon but trapped by Aragorn and the archers.

The decision was soon taken from their hands when a mighty battle cry went up, and Aragorn’s heart leapt to see his men, his Gondorian soldiers, striking through the thieves, sending them further towards the archers. “Again!” Haldir cried, and he notched his own arrow to send with the others. The sky filled with arrows, a cloud that descended onto the thieves. Orc and man fell, and the Gondorians raised a cheer.

Now to just hold them. “We keep them contained,” Aragorn ordered. “We must keep the battle contained. If they sweep out, they will circle back around Thorin, the Rohirrim, and your kin.”

“Then we will keep them held,” Haldir said, as if that was simply that. He gave a loud cry again, even as the Gondorians raced towards the archers, and another round of arrows sailed through the air.

“We will depend on it,” Aragorn said grimly. To his nearing men, he cried, “To arms! To arms!” and raced down to meet them. He swung his sword high, blade shining despite the blood and grime on it, and his men followed him back into the fray.

 

Another orc dropped, and a moment later, a man fell dead beside it. Fili pushed past them and continued on.

Beside him, Legolas continued to fire arrow after arrow, his quiver still mostly full. Every time he saw an arrow for the taking, it was his, and it was back in his bow and flying towards another being. Orcs and men and random dwarf thieves were all falling.

Fili had a few to his name, too. Quite a few. And each one put him closer to Erebor.

Dwarves had come spilling out not long after the battle had begun. They’d managed to keep Caila from retreating, but it hadn’t been enough to fully crush the thieves. More continued to appear, however, fresh soldiers to the fight, something Caila couldn’t claim. Her thieves were falling like flies, and every time Fili struck one down, he got one more closer to her. That was, if Uncle didn’t get there first.

As much as Thorin deserved to take her head, Fili _really_ wanted to be the one who did it.

A scream turned his attention to the man charging him at full speed, two blades already raised for the taking. Fili gritted his teeth and began to swing up, then stopped when the man jerked, a blade cutting up through his chest. He hit the ground, nearly cleaved in two, and when Fili looked beyond him, there she was. Whole, alive, looking angrier than he’d ever seen her, but she was _there_ -

“Fili-“

Dernwyn had barely spit his name out when he grabbed her, clutching her close and catching her lips with his. She was warm, her mouth desperate for his, hot and furious and all but biting. It was the best kiss he’d ever shared with her, and he felt giddy, standing there with her in his arms, kissing him until he was breathless.

An arrow flying past them was enough to part them for the time being. “Are you hurt?” he demanded. “Holdred and Lili-“

“They’re fine, they’re back in Erebor with Bofur, Esmeralda, Dril’s cousin, and Bilbo,” Dernwyn said. “I came out here to find you.”

A flash of dark hair beside him caught his eye, and it was exactly who he’d been afraid it was. “What are you doing out here?” Fili yelled at him. “Kee!”

“I wasn’t about to sit inside!” Kili yelled back. Legolas narrowed his gaze at him, but Kili held his ground. “No. The four of us took on the Black Gates together, we can take on Erebor’s Gates now. I’m not staying inside while you’re all down here!”

A growl of an orc made them all whip around. Kili’s arrow let loose first, but he only hit it in the chest, whereas Legolas’s aim hit it dead center between the eyes. Dernwyn’s blade caught it in the shoulder while Fili’s took it out at the knees. It fell, probably happy to be dead at that point.

The four of them stared at the orc for a long moment. Fili finally nodded. “I’m going after Caila. Anything we cut down along the way is an added bonus.”

“You and me both,” Kili said, and Fili remembered suddenly finding Kili in Moria, finding Bilbo, filthy and hurt and bleeding out. They’d faced Caila first. If anyone deserved Caila’s head, it was Kee.

Legolas seemed to be of the same opinion. “Together,” he said, and Dernwyn nodded shortly.

“Together.”

A growl of a warg made them turn, and then it was down, slumping to the ground. Ori’s warhammer slid from its skull easily, and Dwalin beside him was twirling both axes in his hands. He had a crazed look about him, and the blood spattered across his face didn’t help. Given that it had been his brother whom Caila had taken down, though her hand hadn’t been the one behind the arrow, Dwalin had a right to this battle.

It seemed they all deserved a chance to take her head. Fili just selfishly hoped that he’d get there first.

“Your Uncle needs help,” Ori said, as if Dwalin was too gone for words. “We think he’s got Caila-“

Even as he spoke, Gimli was suddenly there, his own beard covered in filth and blood. “The King, to the King!” he yelled, and Fili could see Thorin now, Orcrist a blue light above the sea of thieves, Rohirrim, Ereborians, and elves of Lorien. His hair was falling from the war braids, and his red cape of war was tattered.

But in front of him was Caila, her long haired attendant by her side, and that was all.

 _He had her_.

“Dwalin, Ori, Nori, take the sides,” Fili ordered. “Keep as many as you can away from Uncle. We’ll go to his side. Gimli, where is Aragorn?”

“Off with his men and Rohirrim, leadin’ the charge,” Gimli told him. “Éomund’s with him.”

“Then leave them. Find Haldir, bring his aim to the edges to keep the army confined if he isn’t doing so already.”

Gimli was gone in an instant. Dwalin was already moving, a storm of rage fueled by grief. Ori stuck to his side stubbornly, swinging his hammer to clear a path. Nori raced to the other side, and he caught a few of the dwarves of Erebor on his way to push the army back. That would leave Caila all to Thorin.

And Fili was going to be right there beside him the entire way.

Dernwyn was already moving, her blade like poetry in motion, slicing through the air and bringing orcs and thieves down with each blow. Legolas continued to pull arrow after arrow, and in between his breaths when he notched a new arrow, Kili let his own arrows loose, never giving the enemy a pause.

With a growl Fili pushed himself forward, boots sliding in the mud and blood, ignoring everything save for his uncle and Caila. He didn’t care about the clouds above them, sending a cold breeze through the battle. He didn’t care about the hour or the time of day.

Nor did he care about the sun finally settling behind Erebor, its light strong enough to cast through the clouds and leave the shadow of Erebor covering Thorin and Caila as they battled.

 

She hadn’t been expecting the blow. That was for certain. Unfortunately for Thorin, the man beside her had, and he caught it with his blade, keeping her from missing her head. It gave Caila enough time to drag forward two long and curved swords.

“You don’t deserve the throne,” she hissed when Thorin had been repulsed. “It’s _mine_. I will lead Erebor! Not your heirs, not your filthy _hobbit_ , not your little children that you dare to call part of your bloodline despite their disgrace. _I will take the throne!_ ”

Not in Thorin’s lifetime. She swung out, swiftly and with only a yell as her warning, and Thorin managed to duck and come back up with a swing of his own. Orcrist was thankfully light enough in his good hand to keep him afloat in the fight, but it wasn’t going to be enough if her dark haired shield came into the fight, as he was about to do.

Suddenly there was a shout, and a flash of blonde hair was all Thorin saw before Fili was there, blocking the man and shoving him back. “Lenegar!” Caila shouted, but it was in annoyance, not with any real fear for his well being. It gave Thorin enough time to grasp Orcrist with both hands and bring it straight at her neck. She dodged and brought her own blades up, nearly trapping his between them when she pulled them together.

She swerved to avoid a bright arrow, thin and of elven make. Legolas was there, along with Dernwyn, thank Mahal, but beside her was _Kili_ , and Thorin felt franticness settle in his soul. If Kili was there, Bilbo had to be, as well. There was no way that Kili could have gotten out without Bilbo being right beside him.

But he didn’t see him, and he had Caila to deal with. She swung again and again, each attack faster and more precise than the one before, and she looked calm. Far too calm. That, Thorin could do something about.

“You don’t deserve the throne,” he told her. She narrowed her gaze at him, and he managed a tight grin. “One of your blood could never be a good enough ruler for any kingdom, let alone one such as Erebor.”

The words had the intended effect. “I would do better than you, Thorin Oakenshield,” she hissed. “And you have no care for mixed blood, or else you would have cut the children down.”

The thought of Holdred and Hildili in danger, of being hurt, left him seeing red. He forgot about his shoulder and swung _hard_ , and even as he felt the pain course through him, catching her unaware and sending her stumbling back was well worth it. She was up again before he knew it, however, and pushing him further back. Her speed was unlike any he’d ever known. The elf blood within her, coupled with the strength of a dwarf, made her a dangerous foe indeed. Too cunning, watching his every move and anticipating the next before he could even think of it. Every blade twist was met and shoved off, every swing was met evenly. Neither gave ground, and he forced himself to hold where he was. He would not let her win. He _refused_.

“ _Fili!_ ”

And then it all fell apart.

Fili was down, clutching his gut, eyes wide in shock. His hands were bright red, and even more blood continued to pour out. Then Dernwyn was there, still screaming his name, swinging and taking Lenegar back and back towards the Ereborian army. Thieves came at her, and she barely saw them, fighting to keep them away from Fili’s fallen form. Fili was still too pale, too bloody, and his eyes were already fluttering shut.

Even as Thorin registered this in a matter of a breath, Kili was screaming as if he was being murdered, and he whipped his head around to his other son. Fate, fate was taking them both, fate was going to take them both, and Bilbo’s vivid nightmare was there, taunting him.

Except it wasn’t Kili that was down. Kili was sobbing now, and it was Legolas tumbling backwards into his arms, a spear through his gut. Shielding Kili from the blow. Dori was there, and Dril with him, and they were pushing the army back and keeping Kili and Legolas protected, but the damage had been done. Legolas was still and silent in Kili’s arms, and Kili was keening, clutching at him in desperation.

A blade came up two breaths later, and Thorin met it with every ounce of strength he had, once more putting Caila on the defense. Somewhere off in the distance, he could make out Dwalin’s roar of anguish, could hear Ori screaming a battle cry. Dernwyn was still shouting and fighting, and Kili’s sobs were too loud in the midst of all the fighting. He forced himself to block it out, forced himself to shove back the panic, that his one son was dead and the other had lost his husband, and focused solely on Caila. She was grinning, wild and manic, and with a laugh she was suddenly there in his face, blade at his knees. He swung to keep her back, but she caught him, tearing through him right above his knee, sending him down.

Orcrist went flying, and Thorin landed with a pained cry on the ground. His shoulder, his shoulder _burned_ , and his leg was on fire, but none of it mattered when he looked up. Erebor seemed to loom over him, and soon he was staring up at Caila, her blades gleaming. Her hair flew about her in the breeze, and Thorin desperately looked about for his blade, any blade. Even when he saw Orcrist, he began to move, but found his leg pinned by Lenegar’s sword, stuck through his thick armor and straight into the earth. The man grinned at him from beside Caila, hand firmly on the handle of his blade.

Thorin was trapped. And this was it.

“The throne is mine,” Caila said. “And you are a memory.” Then she swung.

Her blade caught in midair, held, and got pushed back. Thorin stared, stunned, fear rising in his throat so swiftly he thought he’d be ill.

_Bilbo._

“This isn’t a fight you want to be in, little hobbit,” Caila warned. “If I were you, I’d be very afraid right now.”

Bilbo didn’t move, only tightened his grip on Sting. He stared up at them, face filthy and covered with sweat and grime, his gaze one of silent fury and indomitability, and Caila’s determination began to falter. Thorin could have sworn he felt the very air crackle with power, Bilbo daring to defy fate once more.

Bilbo hefted Sting even higher against Caila and Lenegar. “I am Riddle Winner,” he said, voice so full of wrath in a way Thorin had never heard before. “I am Barrel Rider and Dragonsbane. I am Spider Slayer and Ring Bearer and _I am_ Sauron’s Destruction. I’ve faced down Smaug the Fire Drake and Durin’s Bane and lived to tell both tales. I _do not fear you_ , and you will _not_ take my husband.”

In that single moment, Bilbo looked tall and strong, a being of might and power, so much so that Caila stared in fear, Lenegar all but hiding behind her. It was said in battle that the soul of a being was visible, that their true selves were shown. And right now, Bilbo’s was bright and big and terrifying in its majesty. Never before had Thorin seen someone so powerful before. It left him staring for a long moment, completely unable to comprehend that this was _his husband_ , his kind and forgiving Bilbo who had wept over Gollum’s death and spared Dekir and Rutar when they would have killed him.

Yet they were one and the same, and it would be foolish to believe otherwise. For there was nothing else Bilbo would fight so strongly for than those he loved. It was for those he adored and held dear that he would readily battle and give his life for.

It was that thought that finally let Thorin move, struggling to get his pinned leg free. His movements seemed to stir Caila and Lenegar from their stupor, and they charged Bilbo in a mad rage, Lenegar darting out in front of his queen. Bilbo’s size went to his advantage, however, and he ducked, all but falling under Lenegar’s knees. The man tripped and went flying, and Thorin caught Orcrist just in time to swing up and connect. Lenegar’s body hit the ground, his head rolling off elsewhere.

Caila screamed in fury and swung back around to him, but then Bilbo was there again, veering as hard as he could to keep her blades from Thorin. But it wasn’t going to be enough. Not with both of Caila’s blades, not with how angry she was, her eyes wide and horrid in their madness. Every swing she took Bilbo met, but he was being shoved back closer and closer to Thorin, and he was going to fall. Thorin could see it now, as plainly as Caila could. Bilbo was going to die defending Thorin, just as he’d sworn he would do. Even as determined and strong as he was, even as powerful as he was in that moment, his physical strength just wasn’t going to be enough. And fighting against fate was impossible.

Fate had taken Fili when it had been given the chance. It had taken Legolas instead of Kili, and now, it would take Bilbo instead of Thorin.

Thorin wasn’t going to let it.

Caila caught Sting with one of her swords, her other curved blade already being thrust forward towards Bilbo. Without a pause Thorin wrenched himself up to his knees, reached forward to catch Bilbo about the waist, then shoved him around and beneath Thorin.

One breath.

Two.

Hot pain soared through him, tight and cracking through bone. His breath stuttered out of him, and beneath him, Bilbo was bloody and silent, eyes wide in pain. No, no, he’d done it in time-

His blood. Thorin slowly let himself look down to where the blade cut through him. Not Bilbo’s blood, his blood, dripping from the sword onto his husband’s face. Not pain for himself, but for Thorin, all across his face, eyes wide in devastation and fear and so much pain.

“Bilbo,” Thorin murmured, his lips stumbling over the words. Orcrist dropped from his hand, his arms barely enough to keep him upright, and the blade within him was yanked out so forcefully that he choked, blood spilling from his lips. Suddenly Bilbo had Thorin’s blade in hand, bringing himself up onto his knees and shoving Orcrist behind them both with a scream. He didn’t see what Bilbo had struck, but Caila let out a choked cry, high and pained, and when Bilbo drew Orcrist back, the blade held fresh blood.

Over. It was over. And Bilbo was safe.

His arms finally gave out, and he fell over into Bilbo’s embrace, nearly sending them both back to the ground. Bilbo was whispering his name over and over again, and he finally managed to raise his heavy eyes to his husband. Bilbo wasn’t whispering, he was _screaming_ , clutching at Thorin with tears in his eyes. Jumbled words began to finally make sense, enough that Thorin could understand them as the world greyed in and out. “…no, no, Thorin, _no no no_ , please don’t do this, no, Thorin, _Thorin_ -“

Thorin lifted his hand up to Bilbo’s face, trying to wipe tears away and instead smudging them across Bilbo’s cheek. His fingers brushed against the marriage braid, their braid, and it was whole and intact and forever for Bilbo to keep.

He met Bilbo’s gaze, his husband barely keeping his sobs at bay. He wished he could take Bilbo in his arms, he wished he could kiss him and hold him one last time. He wished he could protect him, as the battle went on. But strength was leaving him, and the shadow over Erebor only added to the darkness covering his eyes.

It seemed fate couldn’t be avoided, after all.

Thorin swallowed back the taste of blood. “Beloved,” he breathed, and then it was just too much to keep his arm up. He thought he felt Bilbo catch it.

Then he thought no more.

 

Almost to the edge. She was almost to the edge of the battle. Clutching her chest, holding the blood in, she just needed to get to the edge and get away-

Something caught on her battle gown. She managed to turn herself around to snag it free, then froze. Princess Dis stood above her, battle axe in hand. Her eyes were red with rage, and her hair blew freely in the breeze. This was not a woman of politics and the throne. This was a queen in battle, a warrior.

Caila stared up at her, the same fear she’d felt upon seeing the soul of Bilbo Baggins entering her again. She’d feared her loss at the hobbit’s hands, the entire thought suddenly piercing her soul, and now, as she gazed up at Dis, she felt it once more.

She remembered being a child, being chased out of the dwarven settlement, her mother wounded and barely hanging onto life. She remembered the oath she’d made then and there when her mother had died, to rule all of the dwarves and teach them a lesson, to tell them that she was a pure dwarf, no matter her blood, and that they’d all been wrong.

Now, though, she felt like a rat, scurrying about the ground, underneath their boots once more. She’d almost had it, she _had_ held it, that power in her hands, she had felt it coursing through her as she’d stood atop Erebor’s gates and reigned over them all.

And when Dis’s axe came down at her neck, she shut her eyes and felt nothing more.

 

Dis slowly brought her axe down by her side when it was done. It had been pure luck to find the supposed ‘queen’ crawling on the ground for shelter. She watched Caila’s head hit the ground, not even a sound being made as it tumbled from her body.

Not that it could come close to matching the sounds around them.

The battle was mostly done. A few thieves were on the run, and those still on horseback were chasing after them. Mostly it was the sound of those weeping for the fallen, those whose grief could not be held back.

Slowly she let herself look up to where she had dreaded gazing.

Dernwyn was there, rocking Fili back and forth, weeping into his hair. He made not a sound in reply, face silent and eyes closed. His hands were almost black with his own blood about his middle. To the other side of what had been a mighty battle line knelt Kili, her youngest who had somehow gotten out of Erebor. He was cradling Legolas in much the same fashion, refusing to let go even when elves came forward to aid them. She forced herself to move her gaze again, this time between where her children were.

There Bilbo sat, making not a sound. His face was red and tearstained, his eyes just as sore and swollen. He was covered in blood, but his face was blank of any emotion.

And in his arms was her brother, silent and still, eyes closed, head tilted to rest against Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo was clutching at Thorin’s hand, as bloody as it was, as if Thorin would disappear if he didn’t. Dis stared without blinking and let her eyes burn.

Somehow she felt the tug on her arm, and when Dis turned, it was to find Dwalin there, bloody and messy but still somehow standing. “They’re alive,” he said. “Fili, Legolas, and Thorin. They’re still breathin’.”

It was little comfort. Now that she turned back, Thorin was being carried from the field, and Dernwyn was doing her best to keep up with the stretcher bearing Fili off and away from the destruction. The entire field was decimated, ruined for years to come. Even if the grass grew back, the blood staining the field would keep anything from returning for quite some time.

She drew herself up and forced herself to breathe. “Help me pitch tents,” she said. “The men of Rohan, the elves who came with you, anyone else who was injured. They will not all fit within Erebor. They need aid, and they need it now.”

“Aye, my liege,” he said, and the words hurt. She didn’t want to be reigning monarch. She didn’t want to be the one in charge. She wanted to be the little sister who curled up in Thorin’s arms as he soothed her, rocked her, made it all better.

Oh Mahal, she couldn’t do this. But she had to.

She put her axe behind her on her back and went to find the others.  


	28. In the hands of fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three lives hang in the balance. Three more have their worlds about to splinter apart.
> 
> It all now rests in fate's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was also a very difficult chapter to write. It is VERY long. And it made me walk away a few times.
> 
> There are some serious feels here. That is all the warning I can give you.
> 
> *offers tissues, blankets, chocolate, and anything else you could want*
> 
> Several of Gandalf's lines are gently borrowed from Return of the King.

The field was as bloody as she had expected, but Dis moved through it with as much purpose as she could give herself. She was a Durin, and right now, she was needed. And that meant finding others who could also help, such as a wizard she knew she’d seen. Somewhere, off to the edge where they’d kept the army contained, Dis could see Gandalf’s staff. She would need his aid now, to help her help the others.

“My lady.”

She turned and found a man of the Rohirrim, if his armor was anything to go by. He looked achingly familiar, and when he bowed, she found she didn’t have the strength to do the same.

He didn’t seem to mind. “I come with tidings from Queen Morwen,” he said. “I’m here to lend aid in any way I can. We have brought our healer, Aldor, anticipating that there would be loss, but…” His eyes went out to the field, and he winced. “We didn’t expect this much,” he admitted. “We will aid where we can. I know a bit of field medicine myself.”

“Any aid is welcome,” she said. “Thank you…?”

“My apologies,” he said. “My name is Holdwine.”

Holdwine. The name brought to mind Dernwyn’s stories of her uncle. “Your niece will need you,” she said, and the thought of her son on the field, broken and bleeding and _dead_ -

A hand steadied her, and she clung to it, grateful for his strength. “You’ll need someone, too,” he said gently. “I’ve been told that Aragorn of Gondor is here. Where is he?”

“Here,” and there Aragorn was, already moving to her side. “Holdwine, you are a welcome sight. Dernwyn is in a tent with Fili.”

“Then I’ll find her,” Holdwine said, and with a quick bow to Dis, he departed. It was there in his features, in his smile. She could see Dernwyn in him, and she was glad he’d be there for her.

Aragorn didn’t move. “Gandalf would be of great aid,” she began, but he shook his head.

“He has already moved to the tents of healing. I’m here to aid _you_ , Lady Dis.”

A king aiding a would-be queen. The thought was so stifling that she pressed a hand over her mouth and fought to breathe. “You shouldn’t be doing that,” she finally said when she could speak again. “You’re a king, Aragorn, a king of men.”

“Right now, I am a friend,” Aragorn said softly. He rested a hand on her shoulder in much the same way Holdwine had, and she welcomed its warmth and strength. “Not just to Thorin, your sons, or Bilbo, but to you as well. And I am here to help in any way I can. Whether it be by my healing skills or by my hands, wherever they may be best put to use, I will be there.”

It was almost more than she could bear. “Thank you,” she choked out, and she forced another breath. In, out. Kili needed her. Dernwyn needed her. Bilbo needed her. The people of Erebor would need her, the children, oh Mahal, her grandchildren-

_One thing at a time, Dis,_ she swore she heard her father say. _One thing at a time. You cannot take on the world alone._

She couldn’t, no, but with Aragorn helping her, and those around her already pitching tents to help aid the wounded, she could take on her world here. “We need to ensure there are enough healers for the wounded, and help pull whoever else is injured off of the battlefield,” she told him, and he gave a nod. She breathed again, and because she could, she took another breath.

Then she moved forward, Aragorn a welcome presence beside her.

 

Words filtered in as if underwater. Sometimes they made sense, sometimes they didn’t. Above all, he could still understand the urgency, the despair. The resignation that death would come.

“Cradle his head, keep him steady-“

“More pressure on his wound, stop the blood from spilling-“

“-breaths are fewer-“

When he saw them set Thorin down, when he saw Thorin’s limp hand gently tumble from the stretcher, it was all Bilbo could bear. He stumbled away, tripping over his feet in a desperate attempt to be anywhere else except for where he was.

Cold. He was so cold. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. Around him were various dwarves and men, carrying the injured, supporting those who could still walk. Voices rang through the air, shouts and cries and, sometimes, grieved weeping. He felt something roll down his face and could not be bothered. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

He found cool stones beneath his feet before he knew it. Looking up, he could only stare numbly at the empty hall around him. It’d been ten years or so, he thought, since he’d seen Erebor so empty. Back before he’d joined hands with Thorin, back when the only thing Bilbo had had to worry about was a dragon.

He stumbled on. The halls seemed to echo his every step.

He found himself up the stairs to the royal chambers, and then he was at the door to his chambers, _their_ chambers. So long since he’d seen this room, so long since he’d been in it. Yet there were his things, and there were Thorin’s. The soft coat hanging next to the door caught his attention, and all he could think of was the chill in his bones. He wrapped it around himself and tried to quell his shivering. Bed. He should be in bed.

But when he looked at it, all he could see was his husband lying beside him, smiling so softly, hair fanning about him. Eyes closed, blood in his hair, pooling in his mouth-

He all but fell out of the room, stomach whirling. He ran down the hallway and into the main hall, nearly taking a tumble down the stairs. His eyes found the refuge, the small dark corner, and he slid inside, not caring where he was, not caring of anything except that it was Thorin’s smell about him, wrapped around him in the coat, and his husband was outside dying in a tent. Dying for him.

He didn’t know how long he wept for, but he also thankfully didn’t do it for long before grief and weariness pulled him under.

 

“No one’s seen him,” Nori said grimly. “Bilbo just…vanished.”

Ori began to reply when Dis came hurrying over, panting for breath. “Someone said they saw him wandering into Erebor.”

It was as good a place as any to look. “Erebor, then,” Ori said, and they moved as one to the mountain. Bofur gave them a nod and went back to Dernwyn’s side outside of Fili’s tent, where Holdwine was. Kili couldn’t be found, but Ori knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wouldn’t go far from where Legolas was lying. And Thorin…

Ori pushed the lump in his throat down. The thought of losing the king was a terrifying one. The thought of losing Thorin, a friend, was even worse. Mahal only knew what type of mind Bilbo was in, to disappear as he had.

It was Bifur who found the small bloodstain where Bilbo had obviously stopped long enough for it to fall, no doubt the small head wound Ori had heard Oin grumbling about. It was easy to guide their footsteps from there up towards the royal chambers. They fanned out upon reaching the royal halls, calling and searching every room.

But he was nowhere to be found. “Bilbo!” Ori called again, daring to step inside the king’s chambers. He moved around cautiously, afraid to disturb anything. But finding Bilbo was a stronger priority than propriety. “Bilbo!”

“Anywhere?” Dwalin asked, poking his head in. Ori shook his head, eyes cast about the room. Everything was just as neat and orderly as they’d left it. Ori assumed his own chambers would be the same: his books where he’d left them, the tea set not having moved since he’d last had a drink with Balin-

“Easy,” Dwalin murmured, and Ori didn’t realize he was gasping for air until Dwalin took him in his arms. “Easy, love.”

“We’ll lose them all,” Ori whispered. “Dwalin, they could all go, and we’ll lose them all.”

Dwalin was quiet for a long moment. Ori shuddered and tried to get his breathing under control. It wasn’t fair to put this on Dwalin, not when it had been his brother he’d lost. Ori had loved Balin, too; it was hard not to. He’d been an encouraging brother through marriage, Ori’s mentor and tutor, and Ori had been grateful to know him. He’d been a friend.

“Count the blessin’s we have,” Dwalin finally said. “We got Erebor back. We saved thousands of lives. Fate hasn’t won yet, and you’re here with me.” He took in a breath. “We’ll just keep addin’ to the tally as we go, that’s all.”

Ori nodded against Dwalin’s chest. “We’ll find Bilbo,” he said, voice wet.

“And we’ll find Bilbo.”

“Dis found him!”

Gloin’s call left them moving swiftly out of the chambers and back into the hall. Ori frowned when Gloin pointed back to the stairs they’d come up – there was absolutely nowhere to go, no other hallways there – until he realized where Dis was kneeling.

There, beside the stairs, were small alcoves for statues or torches to be placed. And tucked into the bottom of one was Bilbo. He was wrapped in Thorin’s royal robe, and there was a fresh bloodstain on it, obviously Bilbo’s. Oin was going to want to look at the wound. But he was asleep, a fretful sleep, tears still gently rolling even in his dreams.

“Oh brother mine,” Dis murmured. Dwalin squeezed Ori’s shoulder once before moving forward. Without a word he lifted Bilbo into his arms, cradling him much as he did Holdred or Hildili when they fell asleep in odd places. And thinking of Holdred or Hildili made him think of Dernwyn, of Fili, who even now could fall asleep forever.

Ori brushed the back of his hand over his eyes. “Well, that’s one more back,” Gloin said comfortingly, and he patted Ori on the back.

Ori nodded as he watched Dwalin and Dis head back down the stairs and towards the gates. “One more blessing,” he murmured. And hopefully many more to follow.

 

It was only when he went to deliver a message to Haldir that Dwalin found the youngest Durin. So tucked away in the corner was the archer that he’d missed Kili three times before. But there was no mistaking the young dwarf: dark hair a complete mess about his face, a ragged wound along his neck that would scar if it wasn’t seen to, and desperate, weary eyes locked on the elf who laid too still. He looked as if he hadn’t moved for quite some time, and sleep and food hadn’t obviously been a priority.

Dwalin slowly entered the tent. Haldir glanced up at him, then shot his eyes to the corner, where Kili was. Dwalin gave a low nod. “Aldor’s lookin’ for you,” Dwalin said. “Says he’s got the remedy you were hopin’ for.”

“Good: that will help. I am grateful that he is here to aid us. Will you stay here until I return?”

Dwalin nodded again, and Haldir left, silently and swiftly. Only when he was gone did Dwalin move to the corner, to the dwarf who still hadn’t moved or even acknowledged Dwalin’s presence. He settled down beside the prince and waited.

The tent smelled of something sharp and bitter, a scent Dwalin remembered from the healing houses in Lorien. Legolas looked pale, almost ghost-like, and the cloth wrapped around his chest was a dark red. Hopefully it wasn’t bleeding anymore; he’d have a better chance if it wasn’t fresh blood. Where the wound was didn’t leave Dwalin feeling warm, though.

“Should’ve been me.”

Dwalin slowly turned to the prince. Now that he was closer, other things were visible. Like that Kili’s eyes were red, and his fingers were running over something bright and gleaming in his lap. An arrow tip – their arrow. The runes of their names ran under Kili’s fingertips over and over again. Never once did the young dwarf look away from his husband. “I know it should’ve,” Kili said. His voice was hoarse, as if from shouting for hours, and monotone. “Uncle’s dying and Fili’s not waking up and it was supposed to be _me_ , not Legolas.”

“If you’re tryin’ to tell me you think it was fate-“

“It was,” Kili insisted. “And it’s not because of what Bilbo said. I just…it felt like a pull to a certain place in the battle, racing after Fili, defending Uncle as best we could.”

Now that, Dwalin hadn’t been expecting. He sat up straighter at the serious tone he rarely heard from the other dwarf. “It felt…it felt like it was supposed to happen,” Kili said quietly. “And I don’t know whether it was fate or how worried I was, but when the blow came towards me, I wasn’t really surprised.” He swallowed hard and finally looked away from Legolas and down to the arrow in his lap. His fingers had worried away at the tip, leaving small smudges of grime from the battle that he continued to move about with each swipe. “Then suddenly, Legolas was there and…”

Dwalin didn’t need to hear the rest. He’d heard Kili’s scream, and when Dwalin had seen Fili crumpled on the ground, he’d assumed that was why. Then he’d seen Kili supporting Legolas, both of them stumbling down to their knees. Never mind that behind them, Thorin had been losing his battle with Caila.

Then Bilbo had shown up and everything had gone out of control.

“Is Bilbo all right?” Kili asked, finally meeting Dwalin’s gaze.

Dwalin glanced away. No, the hobbit was anything but all right. If Thorin died, Dwalin feared for Bilbo, what would happen, what he’d do. After they’d found him in Erebor and carried him back outside, he’d awakened but not said a single word. He wandered around like a ghost, even now, becoming a taskmaster, delivering things and offering light assistance where he could, but all of it without a sound, without a word. If Thorin passed on, Bilbo would die, too, and Dwalin knew it as surely as he knew the sun would rise. As dark as it was outside now, the night having descended on them, it _would_ rise again.

He just wished the other thing he was sure about was as cheerful. _Count your blessings,_ he’d told Ori. It was about time he lived by what he said.

Kili fell silent again when he wasn’t given an answer. Dwalin supposed that was an answer enough. “You need rest,” Dwalin said softly. “Should go take a breather, get out of the tent: it’d do you some good.”

“Is waiting really the only thing we can do?” Kili asked instead, ignoring him.

After ensuring Kili wouldn’t bolt if he moved, Dwalin carefully rested his hand on the young dwarf’s shoulder. “It is. But you don’t have to wait alone.”

Kili’s nod was a little more firm this time, a little more convinced. It was about the best Dwalin would be able to do, he supposed. Still, he couldn’t help but add, “He wouldn’t want you sittin’ here in the dark by yourself, lad.”

Fingers went white around the arrow until Dwalin was certain the arrow’d snap. Then, finally, his grip sagged, and Kili dropped like a puppet cut from its strings. “Just for a little bit,” Dwalin coaxed. “Get some food in you, get you standin’ so you can give your arse a break from the ground. Maybe even find you a pillow to sit on or somethin’.”

Kili huffed a laugh that sounded wet, but Dwalin wasn’t about to call him on it. Thorin and Bilbo would have his head if Kili was left to rot here. And Dwalin wanted someone to look at the cut on his neck: he had a feeling Haldir had tried and been rebuffed, if the elf’s easy acquiescence to leaving his patient was any indication.

As if the thought of him had summoned him, Haldir reappeared, a small bowl in his hands. It looked to be filled with a dark green paste. He said not a word but moved to Legolas’s side, carefully peeling the bandages away. Kili’s fingers went tight around the arrow again, and this was nothing the prince needed to see. He’d seen enough of his husband’s blood. “Up with you,” Dwalin said, and he caught Kili by the arm and hauled him up as gently as he could. “C’mon. You can help me keep Bilbo from wanderin’ in circles.” Which he was more than likely doing.

The mention of his uncle seemed to spur Kili into moving, and at last the young dwarf made to stand. He staggered once on his feet after so long sitting, and Dwalin caught him before he went down. “Easy, lad,” he murmured. More than past time to get Kili seen to, get some warm food in his belly. He was glad now that he’d sent Esmeralda and Bofur after Dernwyn, who was more than likely in the same state as Kili was. As for Bilbo…

There wasn’t much he could do for his small friend, but Mahal, Dwalin would _try_.

Kili had stopped where he was, eyes remaining on Legolas. “Let’s find Bilbo,” Dwalin said, and it wasn’t quite fair to use the hobbit that way, but if it made Kili move, he’d take it.

Kili shuddered but began taking limping steps towards the tent. More injured than he’d let on, then, or more likely still not healed from Moria, and Dwalin felt like cursing the entire line of Durin. None of them capable of taking care of themselves in the slightest. All of them boneheaded and determined to fight for someone else, even if it took their lives.

They left the tent, Legolas still silent beneath Haldir’s healing hands.

 

“You’re a terrible influence on them.”

Bilbo continued packing…whatever it was he was packing. Dis didn’t know, nor did she care. Her hobbit brother had been all but a ghost, wandering this way and that like a silent herald of woe. He’d not said more than two words since yesterday, and she knew why, she could _see_ why. Because Bilbo never strayed more than a few tents away from Thorin’s tent, always remaining in the same area, always handing off things that went beyond where he was willing to go. She knew that it was Thorin and her brother’s wounds and the fact that Bilbo could very well lose his husband in the next few days. Oin was working every hour upon the hour, tending to Fili and Thorin and aiding the elves with Legolas where he could, but sometimes, sometimes there was nothing you could do. Sometimes someone was lost.

She moved closer, feeling her shoulder jar slightly with the sharp movements. She’d caught it, she thought, on one of the thieves, she wasn’t certain. All she’d known was that he’d been about to strike innocents, and then he’d been down, thanks to her quick move. She’d suffer pain for that. “Dernwyn and Kili are both refusing to eat and rest, and do you know why?” she asked, already knowing he wouldn’t answer her. She waited, anyway, as if pausing for his response. But Bilbo only continued packing. “This is why. You’re wasting away, not eating, not resting, and neither are anything close to intelligent. You’re Bilbo Baggins, you’re supposed to be the clever one, and I’ve never seen you be so _stupid_ before!”

He said nothing, he didn’t even pause in his tasks, and Dis was suddenly so _furious_ she could barely see straight. “Have you truly no care for how you’re affecting others?” she snarled. “How is this supposed to help Thorin? Have you forgotten everyone else? Your kin, your friends, are they worth nothing to you?” She could suddenly no longer bear his silence and reached out, pulling him away from his task, determined to _make_ him see reason. “Are we nothing to you? Are _you_ not a concern-“

Then she stopped. Bilbo stared up at her, fingers twitching helplessly with nothing to do or hold. His eyes, already red, were slowly trailing tears down his face, as if his grief couldn’t be held back. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. And Dis realized then that Bilbo had had to do something, _anything_ , to keep from doing just what Dis was now forcing him to: to break. “Bilbo,” she whispered, and he let out some horrible sound that reminded Dis too much of someone dying.

She didn’t wait, she simply grasped him and clutched him to her, burying him in her embrace. Harsh, terrible sobs came forward, high pitched and gasping for air. All around them, Dis could see dwarves, men, and elves alike stopping, gazing at them with such sorrow and sympathy that Dis felt tears come to her own eyes. Bilbo’s hands were so tight in her dress that she almost feared it would tear, but if it did, let it. His grief was more important than her wardrobe.

She bent her head towards him as he continued to break. “I won’t bury you with him, I _won’t_. Please don’t make me bury you both.” If she had to lose Thorin, then so be it. She had made her peace with that ten years ago, when he’d told her of his wild idea of reclaiming Erebor. If she had to lose Fili, she would lose part of her soul, for losing one of her children had never been something she’d made peace with. But if she had to lose all three of them, when she could save Bilbo? It would be more than she could bear.

Bilbo keened, a horrible sound that made her flinch and hold him tighter. Slowly those around them continued on, but Dis stayed where she was, Bilbo clutching at her as if she was his only lifeline. For all she knew, she was: they had all left him alone, not daring to disturb him in his grief. It occurred to her now that he had probably stayed away from them because he hadn’t wished to disturb _them_. He had wanted to keep his burden to himself. That was a very typical Bilbo thing to do.

“We’re here, brother-mine,” she murmured. “We are here, too. You are not alone.”

He choked out a word, one word, and Dis shut her eyes. She couldn’t grant it to him. Oh, she wished she could. But who was she to decide how fate worked, or who fate could take away? Bilbo kept whispering, sounding so broken, as if this one word was all he could speak.

“ _Thorin, Thorin, Thorin…_ ”

And her heart broke a little more.

 

It was everything she’d ever feared. She was exactly where she’d never wanted to be.

“Mama?”

Dernwyn slowly lifted her gaze. Hildili and Holdred stood before her, gazing at her with creased brows. Dernwyn cleared her throat and sat up straighter – was she still in that same wretched chair? – before offering them the best smile she could. “What is it, Lili?”

Hildili looked up at Holdred. Holdred chewed on his lip before speaking. “Is Papa coming home?”

Dernwyn froze. “Is ‘e hurt?” Hildili asked. “Mama?”

She couldn’t do this. This was beyond her. She could barely grasp the fact that her stubborn, wonderful dwarf was trading glances with death, and only fate would decide whether they properly met. She could lose him and be left alone. _Now who’s left behind, Fili? You promised me, you swore to me, that I would never be alone. And you’re leaving me behind._

She’d feared for this, before she’d married Fili. She’d felt the pain of losing her parents, of losing Thengel, so keenly before she’d taken Fili’s hand in hers. She’d feared watching him wander out into a battlefield, only to never return. She’d even joined him on the battlefield, tried to defend him with her very breath.

Yet still he strayed towards death. Still fate seemed intent on leaving her to stand alone. Or, in this case, sitting in a chair outside of Fili’s tent, waiting for the inevitable.

“I wanna see Papa,” Holdred said quietly. Beside him, Hildili began to nod. “Please?”

“We should let him rest,” Dernwyn said, but Holdred remained adamant.

“Please?”

“Lili, Holdred,” and when she looked up, Bofur was there, waving them over to him. “Come help me for a bit, eh?”

“I helped Oin for a bit,” Holdred said. Ever the deal maker, just like his father, and Dernwyn would’ve been ill if she hadn’t been so heartbroken and exhausted.

“Good for you, now come help me,” Bofur said, not even batting an eye. Behind him was Holdwine, also looking ready to interject if need be. The children had fallen in love with him as much as they had Morwen, but it might not be enough now. Not enough to keep their attention away from Fili.

Holdred nodded, but then immediately turned back to Dernwyn. “After we see Papa,” he said.

“Please?” Hildili said urgently.

“I…” She swallowed, gazing anxiously at Bofur and Holdwine. How had Holdwine done it, so many years ago, when Dernwyn had asked him the same questions? How had Thengel and Morwen handled her when she’d begged to see her father, then her mother?

Bofur came over and rested his hands on their small shoulders. “How about we let your mum go in and see if your da’s restin’, first?” He gave a small nod to Dernwyn, and Dernwyn would have embraced him if she could’ve. As it was, it was painful to stand from the chair in front of the tent and make her way inside.

It was a small tent, barely enough room for a wash basin and a cot. Hril sat beside Fili, watching him diligently for signs of change, good or bad. He stood swiftly and bowed when Dernwyn came in, and she waved him off with a small smile. He settled back down, and Dernwyn slowly knelt in the dirt beside the cot. Above the blankets rested Fili’s hand, and when she took it in hers, it seemed so cold, so limp. So lifeless.

She nearly choked when she swallowed back a sob. “You weren’t supposed to do this to me,” she whispered. “You and I were supposed to be together for many, many years. You’re supposed to help me when Holdred teases Hildili too many times or when Kili comes to bring too many treats to the children or when I just can’t take it anymore and, and I _need you_ , Fili.” She rested her forehead against their hands and didn’t even care if she was falling to pieces in front of Hril. She had fallen apart when Thengel had died, but Fili had been there, his strong presence the one thing that had kept her going.

Who would hold her when Fili died?

It _hurt_ , the worst thought she could think of besides losing her children, and it felt as if someone had caved her chest in with a mighty blow. On the battlefield, fighting over Fili’s body, she’d been rabid, swinging and screaming with everything she had. Now, she felt so hollow, and speaking took energy.

Before her, Fili still remained motionless. She gazed at him for a long moment and felt her eyes sting. “You can’t leave,” she whispered. A world without Fili was fathomless.

She rose, unable to let her hand leave his. “Should go eat, m’lady,” Hril said. “I’ll let you know if there’s a change.”

She felt dreadful for barely having spoken a word to this wonderful, kind dwarf, the dwarf who’d saved her and her children, but she nodded. “Thank you,” she managed. She had children to speak to, children to feed. Bilbo to find, and Kili, who had to be aching as much as she did.

If Thorin passed on, and Fili died, it would be Kili who took the throne. And there was a chance he would rule it alone, his husband gone from his side. She clenched her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe. She had to do this.

She turned and strode to face reality, head held as high as she could, trying to ignore the hand that slipped from her grasp.

 

And then.

 

The hand around hers tightened, just enough to make her nearly trip. “M’lady?” Hril asked, concerned, when she froze.

She moved back to Fili, not even daring to breathe. He remained as he had for the past few days, but…she had to have felt it. _Please, oh please_. She squeezed his hand back, refusing to let go. “Fili?” she whispered.

Cool fingers twitched and tightened around hers, and even as she watched, hope filling her, Fili’s eyes slowly drifted open. He took in a ragged breath and winced, his lips dry and chapped from disuse. But he still managed to croak her name, still managed to wrap his arm around her when she dropped to her knees again and buried her face in his chest.

She was aware of Hril leaving the tent, off to tell the others no doubt. She could’ve cared less. All she cared about was the gentle up-down of Fili’s chest with each breath he took, every beat of his heart that she could feel. She laughed softly, unable to help herself, and raised her eyes to his.

He smiled. “Promised,” he whispered, and Dernwyn felt her breath hitch.

He had. And somehow, he’d kept it.

“Papa!”

Hildili and Holdred were flying into the tent not a moment later, but somehow still managed to keep from throwing themselves at Fili. Fili’s eyes lit up as he reached with one hand to brush against Holdred’s cheek and tuck Hildili’s hair back behind her ear. His other hand he kept firmly clasped in Dernwyn’s, refusing to let go.

Dernwyn was content to let him. Holdred and Hildili looked ecstatic, bright eyed and filled with the happiest grins as they babbled on and on. From the doorway, Bofur and Holdwine stood, grinning just as hard. Dernwyn graced them with a watery smile before turning back to her husband. He gave her a slow wink, and she let out a laugh.

The days were still dark. But at least here, now, was a bright ray of hope.

 

He was fairly certain Dwalin knew he was spinning the soup around and around. Dis probably knew, as well. Bilbo wouldn’t be surprised if the entire damned company was watching him to ensure he ate something. He lifted a spoonful and shoved it into his mouth, if just to do something. Then he went back to spinning it around.

_A hobbit, not eating? That tells me something about the soup, for I’ve yet to see a hobbit refuse food._

Bilbo clenched his hand around the spoon, the metal digging into his hand. It was still wrapped with a light bandage, from where he’d grabbed Orcrist about the blade in his desperate attempt to kill Caila. Superficial wound, but he thought Oin had been desperate for something to do, too. A patient to work on who wasn’t near death.

There was just suddenly too much noise in the tent. Far too many dwarves and men and elves bustling around, doing everything in their power to help those in need, those injured, those dying. The long wooden table was all but filled with those who needed to eat, and Bilbo was just taking up a seat someone else could use, someone who actually wanted to eat. He steadfastly ignored the fact that he had several places around him that anyone could easily sit down at. Everyone was giving him a wide berth, and he was grateful for it, even while the reason grated his nerves. Everyone had seen him fall into Dis’s arms and break.

_You needed to, beloved. And if I move on, you should let yourself break as often as you need to._

Somehow, Thorin’s voice was still coming through crystal clear, despite the noise around him. He set his spoon down and carefully moved his legs from the bench. When he was certain those in the company were busy, he moved off the bench and under the side flap of the tent. Just loose enough for a hobbit to slide under.

The air outside still smelled of smoke and blood. Burned corpses were far off to the side, but many more bodies were being added to the pile. Bilbo stared at it for a long moment, pretending it was the smoke that drifted past him causing the tears in his eyes, then walked resolutely in the opposite direction. He reached one of the tents and stopped, staring at the ground. If he moved past this line, he would be the furthest from Thorin’s tent he’d been since…well. Since the tent had been put up.

_Beloved._

He swallowed and put one foot past, then the other. Moving swiftly around the tents was easy after that, and he finally reached a patch of earth that was a little green yet, still. It wasn’t completely destroyed from the battle. His feet slid against the grass in a way that left his eyes burning again. Beside him, Erebor still stood tall, waiting for her king. Bilbo was waiting for that king, too.

“I wondered when you might finally leave.”

Bilbo didn’t even glance over at his friend, simply walked up the small hill to join him. Gandalf was seated in the grass, facing the camp. “I’d thought you were there, helping,” Bilbo said and hoped he didn’t sound accusing.

Gandalf shook his head. “I can do little more that others are not already doing. If my aid is needed, I will go. But until then, I am best out of the way. I have done all that I can. I’ve kept my eyes on Mirkwood instead.”

Bilbo felt his gut lurch. “Are there others?” he asked. “Other thieves, more of Calia’s men?”

But Gandalf was shaking his head, and Bilbo let himself breathe a little easier. The air held no trace of smoke, this far around the mountain. “The forests are clear of their filth, of that you need not worry over,” Gandalf said. “But I am keeping watch all the same.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo murmured, and Gandalf gave a nod. They stood in companionable silence, watching the world move on. Somewhere in the camp, Bilbo was certain they were all looking for him. He wondered what he would do, if Thorin died. There, he’d thought it, and it was a horrible thing, but the possibility was closer with every day Thorin still didn’t wake. Which meant Bilbo would have to face facts and think of a future…without him.

Would he become the Bilbo he’d seen in the mirror? Would he go back to the Shire and sit in front of the hearth, as lifeless as if he’d been the one struck down? Or would he stay in Erebor, the memory of Thorin echoing everywhere around him?

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t, and it wasn’t supposed to end this way. It wasn’t.

“This isn’t how I thought it would end,” Bilbo whispered. “I didn’t want it to go like this.”

“End?” Gandalf said, and he sounded so surprised that Bilbo was forced to turn to him, if just to avail his curiosity. “No, the journey doesn’t end here.”

Bilbo frowned. Gandalf moved his gaze from the forest to the horizon, and there was something so distant and _powerful_ that for a moment, he wasn’t looking at his friend, but at Gandalf the White, a wizard of great power. “Death is just another path, one that we all must take,” Gandalf murmured. “The timing is merely all the unknown that we have. I have died, Bilbo Baggins. And I will tell you that it was a warm light that drew you in, as a mother draws her child to her. It was peaceful, with lands such that you would love: green fields and rolling rivers, and there was no pain. It was simply peaceful.”

He didn’t realize there were tears tracking down his face until one fell from his cheek. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he choked out. That was almost bearable, to think of Thorin going to such a place as that.

“No, no it doesn’t,” Gandalf agreed. He subsided again, and Bilbo fought to let himself feel the same peace that Gandalf appeared to have. To accept that Thorin would go to the halls of his ancestors and be greeted by kin and friends long gone. His brother Frerin would probably greet him, perhaps the same way that Kili greeted Fili. He would be happy and no longer in pain.

But it didn’t help the hole in his own heart, the thought of a world without Thorin in it. No Thorin to wake beside, no Thorin to speak with, no voice to rumble through his soul, no whispered words of comfort and love. No laughter, no determination, no more blue eyes or long locks that Bilbo loved to run his hands through. No more warm body to wrap his arms around and hold onto, no warm arms to hold him just as tightly.

It was more than he could bear. And the pain was so strong and fierce that he thought he would crumple at the very thought.

“I believe you have been found, my friend,” Gandalf said with a hint of amusement. Dwalin was indeed moving towards them, steady steps taking him up the hill in short time. He didn’t look nearly as amused as Gandalf was, but his first words to Bilbo were unexpected.

“Fili’s awake; Oin’s got high hopes.”

“Now that _is_ good news,” Gandalf said, rising to his feet at last. He gave a soft smile to Bilbo, whose eyes seemed incapable of halting their flow. “While the life beyond death is one to not fear, there is no reason to not hope for a life and future here,” he said quietly. “You must hope, Bilbo. You cannot give up now.”

There was no news of Thorin, if the look on Dwalin’s face was anything to go by. But Fili was awake. That was a good start.

He was the husband to the King Under the Mountain. And he had to stand strong. _What-ifs in a pond of not-nows,_ his mother’s voice echoed in his mind. He couldn’t afford to think about what could happen. What would most likely happen. “What about Legolas?” he said, refusing to think of his husband.

Dwalin shrugged. “Haldir said he’s comin’ along with whatever Aldor’s been helpin’ him with. Kili _was_ eatin’ until you slipped off.” But the glare Bilbo got had no heat. He knew. He understood.

Bilbo rested his hand on Dwalin’s arm. “Thank you,” he managed. There were truly no words to describe how grateful he was for Dwalin’s continued friendship. He wasn’t quite certain how he would’ve made it through the past few days without him. Never mind the fact that Dwalin was about to lose his cousin within a few short weeks of losing his brother. “I-“

Dwalin shook his head. “I’m not hearin’ it,” he said quietly. “So don’t bother. If I’ve got to lose him, then it’ll happen. But I’ll not lose you, too. Not when you’re standin’ and I can do somethin’ about it.”

Bilbo couldn’t speak for fear of something brutal and grief-stricken coming out, so he settled for a jerky nod. “Come, and let us see Fili for ourselves,” Gandalf said, and the three walked back to camp.

 

Pain. It was all pain.

And then he took in a breath and felt himself stir. That was new pain, too, from his head to his feet. Nothing felt right, it all felt wrong. His chest felt too tight and his arms felt stiff, as if they hadn’t been moved in too long. When he tried to shift his legs, they felt heavy, weighed down. Slowly he managed to open his eyes.

The white flaps of a tent, flying open in the breeze, caught his attention first. He felt too warm at his feet and too cold at his chest, and the mystery cleared when he saw furs laid across his midsection down. His chest was bare, save for the bandages wrapped around him. They were stained, a dark and terrible color, and he felt a phantom blow, heard the remembered scream of the one he loved.

The scream. He thought he had saved him. Had he not been in time? Had he failed?

So strong was the breeze, moving the tent flaps back and forth, that he never heard the figure’s entrance until the sharp inhale. He glanced back at the front of the tent and stared. Only a few bandages, but otherwise, it was him and he was whole. Red-rimmed and swollen eyes stared at him with shock. It was nowhere near as strong as the _relief_ that flooded him when he saw that it hadn’t been for nothing, that he was all right, that he’d kept him safe.

He would never make it from the bed. And his husband was still standing there, frozen, at the entrance to the tent. He tried to sit up, flinched, then finally found his voice. “ _Bilbo_.”

Bilbo slowly moved forward, as if in a daze. Closer now, Thorin could see the dark storm behind his husband’s eyes, waiting to emerge, waiting to erupt. He swallowed, his voice still rough. “I won’t apologize,” he said. “And I know you’re angry with me, perhaps even furious. But I will not apologize, not when you stand before me, alive and whole.”

Bilbo didn’t stop moving until he stood directly in front of Thorin. He still did not speak, would only stare at Thorin, and his gaze gave nothing away. Thorin focused on lifting his arm until it moved, slowly, up towards Bilbo. “Bilbo,” he said again. The silent rage that was waiting behind his husband’s eyes was beginning to make him nervous, more nervous still when Bilbo continued to remain silent. “Bilbo?”

One moment, his husband was standing there, all but glaring through him, and the next, he was diving at Thorin, tugging him into his arms. Foreheads were pressed together, and Bilbo drew a harsh and ragged breath. “You’re angry with me,” Thorin stated.

“ _So_ angry,” Bilbo choked out. “I’m downright furious. But right now I don’t care, because you’re awake and you’re all right, Thorin, _Thorin_ -“

Thorin moved his arm around Bilbo and held him close. He could feel his husband’s shuddering breaths jerking his arm, prompting him to brush his nose against Bilbo’s. “I am here,” he murmured.

“I’m not whole,” Bilbo burst out. Thorin frowned. “I’m not. I’m nowhere close to whole without you.”

A slow crest of warmth began to flood through him until the breeze no longer chilled him. It was all Bilbo and his dry curls that fluttered as if he hadn’t washed or slept in too long, and they would have words about it later. His chest hurt, it _ached_ , and Bilbo pressing against him, as gentle as he was being, still left him in pain.

But Mahal help the person who tried to take his husband from him. All Thorin wanted was to hang onto Bilbo and share breaths and press his forehead to Bilbo’s and just _be_ with him. Bilbo was valiantly trying to keep his composure, but tears were steadily leaking out, and Thorin kissed the ones he could reach away.

Bilbo was safe. Bilbo was _safe_. His husband was alive beside him, and Thorin felt his own eyes burn. Somehow, fate had been willing to let him live and keep Bilbo. _Thank you_ , he thought, his voice beyond him. _Thank you_.

Moments later, the tent would flap open once more, and he would be greeted and scolded and laughed and wept over by his friends and kin. Dernwyn would bring a message from Fili, and Dwalin would say that Kili would be with them in a bit, as he was with Legolas, who’d finally begun to wake.

But that was in a few moments, and neither Bilbo nor Thorin cared about what was to come. Nothing else existed except for the other. They were not King Under the Mountain or Ringbearer. They were simply Bilbo and Thorin, husbands, and together, they were whole.


	29. Closing wounds and righting wrongs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the days and weeks that follow the battle, more than physical wounds are healed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of thanks to give, so give me time to give them.
> 
> First, thank you for all the comments that everyone left on the last two chapters! They were by far the hardest chapters to write for a variety of reasons, so I'm very glad that they struck a chord with y'all.
> 
> Second, HOLY CRAP THERE IS A MOVIE-LIKE TRAILER FOR MY FIC. You need to watch this gorgeous trailer for 'to change the course of the future' by Sansael. Go here go here!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qbPukudDACI 
> 
> Third, my last surprises are in this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy them. I've been holding onto them for a loooooong time, like for several stories, and I finally get to share them. :) Don't read the notes at the end of the chapter until after the chapter unless you want to be spoiled.

Healing took time. Fili had rebounded the quickest, and with his mother’s help, had held the throne for awhile. Not only had it granted Thorin more time to rest, but it had also shown the people of Erebor that their future was in good hands. Fili led with kindness and wisdom, and the devotion of Erebor had only grown.

Kili had remained with Legolas, and when the elf had finally spoken of healing more quickly in the forest, Kili had replied by packing for them both. It had been a tearful day of parting for Fili and Kili, after having nearly lost each other, but eventually Kili and Legolas had gone on their way. Bilbo had remained by Fili’s side as they’d slowly disappeared from view. Only when the winds had gotten too cold had Fili allowed himself to be led away from the gates.

Thorin had healed. Slowly, much too slowly for Bilbo’s tastes, but he had begun healing.

“Are you still angry with him?”

Bilbo slowly poured tea for Dernwyn, first, then himself. “Who, Thorin?”

“My brother, yes,” Dis said. She settled down beside Dernwyn, shaking her head when Bilbo offered her a cup. “I have to presume that you are.”

“Quite a bit, actually. Given that he’s still trying to get up and do things, angrier still.” It made Bilbo’s jaw ache, grinding his teeth as much as he did lately.

“I’m right here,” Thorin said dryly from his place in the bed. So far, Bilbo had been able to keep him there, but he wasn’t certain for how much longer. Both of Thorin’s arms were moving well, and he could walk without assistance now. His breaths were deep and even, and he no longer appeared pale about his face. He looked for all the world like the majestic, regal king that he was.

It still didn’t mean Bilbo wasn’t furious at him.

All three at the table ignored him magnificently, drawing a large sigh from Thorin. “Why my brother insists on trying to hurry the healing process by doing too many things at once, I will never know,” Dis said. She picked up a biscuit from the plate when Bilbo offered it around. “He’s fond of that.”

“I am _resting_. I _have_ been resting, even though I am well enough to continue my duties. I’m continuing to rest for your sake, beloved, am I not?”

“Did you hear something?” Bilbo said, feigning confusion. Dernwyn grinned at Thorin’s aggrieved huff.

“Thorin says he’s resting because of you.”

“Oh, _now_ he’s listening to me,” Bilbo deadpanned. “How kind.”

Thorin let out another sigh. “Dis…?”

“I’ve a son to aid, and grandchildren to adore,” Dis said, rising from the table. “Dernwyn, coming with me?”

“Well, as I’ve a husband to aid and children to adore, I think I will.”

“Traitors,” Bilbo muttered. He gave them both a nod as they left, however, then set about cleaning up the dishes. Dernwyn hadn’t even finished her tea.

“If you bring the biscuit dish here, I could help you clean.”

Despite himself, Bilbo couldn’t help but grin. “You don’t deserve biscuits,” he said, but he brought the plate over anyway. Thorin smiled, that warm smile that did things to Bilbo’s insides, and took the plate effortlessly.

Bilbo didn’t release it. Thorin just paused, waiting. Finally Bilbo let go, then turned to clean up, only to be stopped by a careful hand at his arm. “Don’t,” Bilbo said sharply. “You’re not sorry, remember? You’re not apologizing, as you continue to tell me.”

“I do have an apology to make,” Thorin said, and Bilbo glanced back at that. In the near three weeks since the battle, Thorin had stood by his declaration of not giving an apology for what he had done. Bilbo would have understood better, perhaps, if Thorin hadn’t nearly died for Bilbo. It tended to make a hobbit fairly upset. Especially when the scar across Thorin’s chest was still red and visible.

Thorin cleared his throat, pulling Bilbo away from his memories of those terrible days. “It is not an apology for saving your life.”

Bilbo pursed his lips. “Then it’s not really an apology, is it?” he asked, and went to walk away again. Thorin’s grip tugged him back towards his side, and Bilbo was left to stand beside the bed, glaring down at the furs for fear that he’d glare at Thorin instead.

With a gentle glide Thorin’s hand moved from his elbow to cup Bilbo’s cheek. His eyes were bright and knowing, and the brush of his thumb across Bilbo’s skin was soothing. “I will apologize for frightening you,” he said quietly. “For I left you where I myself had hoped to never be: standing beside a death bed, fearing every minute that the breaths would stop. For that, I am sorry.”

Bilbo swallowed. “Apology accepted,” he said tersely. He felt as if Thorin had taken his entire world and dumped it upside down again, and worse yet, left him the memories of those long days and nights in the tent, counting every breath Thorin breathed. Three weeks after the battle, Bilbo still found himself counting.

Thorin raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “I believe your idea of ‘accepted’ and mine are vastly different, beloved.”

“I’ll accept it if you swear to never do it again,” Bilbo said, and the wry look fell immediately from Thorin’s face. Bilbo pursed his lips. “Then you’re not really apologizing. Because if you do it again I’ll just be right back in the exact same place.”

“Would you apologize, if you had done what I did, and you were near death?” Thorin countered. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

Bilbo felt his cheeks heat. There was a reason they’d avoided this conversation for weeks now. “That’s-“

“It’s not different.”

“You told me you refused to bury me, well, I’m refusing to bury _you_ ,” Bilbo snapped, suddenly so angry he could barely see. “My dream, the dream I told you about, I had to watch you be put into the tomb and it was horrible, I felt like I was the one dying because I watched you waver between life and death for _days_ , and I won’t do it again!”

“I carried you from Mount Doom already believing I was holding your dying body in my arms,” Thorin said lowly. “I did not breathe until I saw you awake with my own two eyes, and if you hadn’t awakened, I would have been crushed with my grief. I am no different, at all. Losing you would leave me desolate and devastated.”

There was a remembered grief on Thorin’s face, his anger long gone, and Bilbo couldn’t feel any of his own fury, either. They both knew, now, far too well, what it meant to lose the other. It was the most horrible feeling that Bilbo had ever felt, the sharp stabbing pain of fear in his heart, the resignation of loss that curled like a stone in his gut. The tears that seemed to well up whenever they felt like it when his mind could no longer hold his grief. “No wonder you wanted bells attached to my hair,” was all Bilbo could say.

Thorin snorted, a watery half grin all he could manage. “’Wanted’? Beloved, _still want_. And still will, if given half a chance.”

Bilbo finally did what he hadn’t dared to do for weeks, in deference to Thorin’s wounds: he climbed up into the bed beside his husband. Thorin let out a sigh and a word that sounded like ‘finally’ before pulling Bilbo to him. Thorin was warm and strong beneath him, and Bilbo laid his head upon his chest. The thudding of his heart was the sweetest lullaby the hobbit had ever heard, and he closed his eyes, letting each heartbeat push away his fear.

 

Cleaning out Moria took time. There had been more depths to discover, more orcs to find, and a few random trolls in the lower halls had made life more difficult. Yet eventually, Moria had begun to be reclaimed.

The very first thing reclaimed had been Balin. Dwalin himself had gone in alongside a large group of dwarves to retrieve his brother’s body from its sacred hiding place. They had brought him back to Erebor to be buried properly, in the tombs of his forefathers. The funeral had been mighty indeed, with dwarves, men, and even elves coming to honor his life. Bilbo couldn’t remember such a large memorial gathering.

The celebration that had followed had been even more massive. Dwalin had gotten roaring drunk, singing ballads and remaining upbeat until Ori and Thorin had finally dragged him out of the hall and back to his own chambers. When Thorin had returned some time later, neither Ori nor Dwalin with him, Bilbo had frowned, perplexed. Thorin had merely shaken his head, his own grief visible to see. Bilbo hadn’t asked. When he’d seen Dwalin the next day, far too sober for his own good, there’d been grief hanging about him that would never truly go away. But there had also been something settled, too, that had been broken since Moria.

Healing had begun.

 

A month after the battle, it rained, and it rained hard, leaving all the little ones – and not so little ones – trapped inside and very grumpy. Grumpier than Dernwyn could recall for quite some time.

Hril coming to the door, then, was a welcome respite from the annoyed dwarves within. Honestly, they were content to remain in the depths of the earth until you told them they couldn’t, and then they simply _had_ to go outside. Even Holdred and Hildili weren’t as fussy as the adults. At least the Guard were cheerful. Well, Hril was certainly cheerful.

“M’lady,” he greeted, and then turned, surprisingly, to Esmeralda and Gimli. “My cousin’d like to see you both at the gates, if you would.”

As confusing as his words had been, they stood anyway and wound up leading out quite the following. Because apparently, also, when dwarves were rained in, they had absolutely nothing better to do.

By the time they reached the gates, even Thorin was there, Fili right beside him. Fili gave her a quick wink, and Dernwyn helplessly let out a soft laugh. Nearly a month after the battle, and she was still ecstatic to simply _have_ him, to listen to him breathe beside her at night, to watch him smile and play with the children.

Then Esmeralda gave a shout and began racing for the gates, and though she’d started far ahead of him, her growing belly made her stance just awkward enough that Gimli managed to beat her there. Dernwyn narrowed her gaze to try and peer against the pelting rain outside.

Two horses stood in the gateway beside Dril, and two hooded riders were upon them. One of their riders had already dismounted, and was moving swiftly towards Gimli and Esmeralda. Even before the hood was thrown back, Dernwyn knew who it was. Still, it was good to hear Esmeralda’s welcoming cry.

“ _Tauriel!_ ”

Tauriel actually let out a laugh when she took Esmeralda and Gimli both in her arms, embracing them tightly. Esmeralda was all bright eyes and wide smiles, and Gimli looked as if he’d cry, he was so happy to see her.

The other rider pulled his hood back, and he gave them all a small smile. “I am glad to see the field breathing again,” Haldir told them. “The rain will be good for the earth.”

He turned then to Thorin. “Is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, still here? I have a message for him, from Lord Elrond.” After a pause, he produced two scrolls. “I also have a message for Bilbo.”

Bilbo stepped forward and offered his hand forward. “Aragorn’s still here, yes. I can take it to him. You can’t honestly think about going back to Lorien in this weather, though, can you?”

“I can ride,” Haldir said, but his smile was growing, as if he’d expected that to not be enough of an answer.

He was right. “There’s fresh baked bread in the kitchen, Haldir,” Bilbo said. “I won’t have a dear friend going back out into that cold, wet weather.”

“Then I am helpless and will have to accept,” Haldir said, giving a small bow to Bilbo. Bilbo returned it, but with a grin. Somewhere after Thorin waking and before the elves had departed, Haldir and Bilbo had truly and properly met, and their friendship had blossomed. Not that anything less was to be expected: how anyone couldn’t be friends with Bilbo, Dernwyn didn’t know.

“Are your kin still here?” Haldir asked, and Dernwyn realized he was asking her.

“No, they left, not long after you returned home. They stayed for personal reasons, not for aid, however.” And it had been good to have Holdwine with them, to bid him and Éomund a proper farewell. And if Dernwyn had been amused at how Valdr had followed some of the shieldmaidens around, stars in his eyes and all but tripping over himself to offer them any help they needed while they stayed in Erebor, well, she hadn’t been the only one. Especially since she was fairly certain that one of the shieldmaidens had been quite taken with the young dwarf.

There’d been some joy to follow the losses dealt to them.

And now Tauriel was returned, looking just as happy to see Esmeralda and Gimli as they were to see her. Gimli could scarce take his eyes off of her, seemingly content to just have her there. Dernwyn didn’t blame him. She still felt the same with Fili every time she saw him.

They held a small, private feast for Haldir and Tauriel that evening. And if Gimli insisted on sitting on Tauriel’s right, leaving Esmeralda the space to her left, no one said anything. Not yet, at any rate. Though Dwalin smirked and Gloin shook his head and Aragorn just smiled. Gimli refused to be flustered and kept to her side, even when Tauriel rolled her eyes at him.

She still remained beside him through the evening, however, all the same. It was good to hear their banter once more.

Dernwyn remained by Fili’s, his hand wrapped tightly in hers.

And when another elf, this time accompanied by his dwarf, returned the next day through the rain, Dernwyn kept Fili’s hand in hers as they raced out to greet Legolas and Kili, long returned at last.

 

It was on the day that Aragorn left, not long after Tauriel had been returned to them, that the conversation returned to an odd topic from before the battle. “Be well, and please give Arwen our thanks for allowing you to stay longer,” Bilbo said. He quickly embraced his friend, and even though Aragorn had to all but duck to do so, he didn’t seem to mind. Fili just grinned.

“She’ll be happy to see you, that’s for certain,” Kili said. “But I’m glad you stayed.”

“I’m glad I did as well,” Aragorn said. “And I’m glad to hear that the Greenwood will flourish once more.”

Fili felt, more than saw, both of his uncles give Kili and Legolas a sideways glare. Kili cleared his throat and Legolas wisely said nothing. “It didn’t take that much clearing out,” Kili said, and Dwalin snorted. “Not really.”

“With both of you injured, it was more than an ample task,” Thorin said, his tone a warning to steer clear of the topic unless Kili wanted to be scolded like a dwarfling. Kili huffed and rolled his eyes.

“We were _fine_. There’s still some more work to do, but you should see the kingdom, it looks so much greener than when we were there last. Really, it does.” He gave Legolas a goofy grin. “And we had the whole place to ourselves. Both of us kings.”

Legolas smiled. “I believe you need people to rule and govern to make you a king,” he pointed out, but he seemed just as happy as Kili did.

Honestly, the two of them were enough to make Fili sick sometimes with how cheery they were. As horrible as it had been to watch them fall apart, he’d forgotten how obvious and _sappy_ they could be.

He wasn’t nearly that sappy with Dernwyn. At least, he hoped he wasn’t.

“If you ever need help clearing out the Greenwood, I know I have many who would willingly travel the distance to do so, including myself,” Aragorn promised. “I believe Denethor might be available for such a task, though if he came, I will caution you, a young woman, perhaps two, would not be dissuaded from staying behind in Dol Amroth.”

Fili frowned, but Kili’s eyes lit up. “Finduilas?” he asked. “Ivriniel?”

“Are they well?” Bilbo asked. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years since I saw them last. They have to be properly grown, now.”

“They are,” Aragorn said. “And I believe Denethor may be considering asking for the hand of the youngest. He’s very taken with her, and has admired her for years.”

Fili remembered the two young girls, though he hadn’t known them as well as Kili and Bilbo and Legolas had. Judging by the smiles on their faces, they thought it was a good match. “I can assure you, the feeling is more than likely mutual,” Bilbo said. “Finduilas was a very vocal supporter of him then, and I doubt that it’s changed at all.”

“So I’ve heard from Denethor. Though he has yet to ask her. I suspect _she_ may ask _him_ , if he does not offer his intentions quick enough.”

“She would,” Legolas mused, and Kili grinned. “Please pass on our greetings and hopes to see them, should they ever tire of the sea.”

“There are more thoughts being put to Moria. We would be glad to see him again,” Thorin added. Bilbo’s smile fell ever so slightly for the first time since they’d gathered at the gate to bid Aragorn farewell, but he didn’t say a word. Thorin still reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder, and Bilbo gave a quick nod, as if to say he was fine. Almost two months out, and none of them were truly ‘fine’. Not really.

But Tauriel was there, as were Kili and Legolas. Fili’s injury had healed, as had Uncle’s. As far as Fili knew, life was good, and going to only get better from there.

Quick footsteps made Fili turn, and there she was, his beautiful bride, hurrying after them. “Glad to see who again?” she asked, panting slightly when she’d come to a stop beside Fili.

“Denethor, at the very least,” Aragorn told her. “I was told that the clearing of Mirkwood and Moria might be potential places of interest for him.”

“Well, we would welcome them, and gladly,” Dernwyn said. She tapped the top of her sword hilt with that quick grin that Fili adored so much. “The southern part of the forest could use help. And, if I could speak with you,” she added in a hushed tone for only Fili’s ears, “you and I need to discuss something. A good something, but still a something.”

Before Fili could even so much as frown at her secretive words, Aragorn moved forward, eyes on Dernwyn’s hand that still rested on her sword hilt. “Let me see your blade,” he asked. Confused, she pulled it from its sheath and placed it in his hands. Fili expected him to use it, to swing it and check for its weight and balance, and found himself surprised when he instead examined the hilt with intense scrutiny. “Whose blade was this?” he asked. “You told me it was a family heirloom, but who did it belong to?”

Dernwyn frowned. “My father. His father’s before him.”

Aragorn gave a slow nod and handed it back to her. “We share a common ancestry, then,” he said with a smile. “One I am pleased for.”

Dernwyn blinked, then gave a half puzzled smile. “I didn’t think I had Gondorian blood in me,” she confessed. She sheathed the blade but played with the hilt, her finger tracing the patterns. “How can you tell?”

“Not Gondorian,” Aragorn corrected. “Dúnedain. I thought I’d seen it, before we entered Moria, but could not tell you then. It is no wonder: you have barely aged a day since last I saw you ten years ago.”

Fili stared. He couldn’t be saying what he thought he was saying. He just couldn’t.

“Dúnedain?” Dernwyn repeated dumbly, even while those around her stared in surprise.

Gandalf gave a hum of agreement. “Those who live very long lives. Yes, I believe you’ve seen it true, Aragorn. I expect Dernwyn would look barely changed in her eighties than from how she appears now.”

“How long?” Fili rasped. “How long do the Dúnedain live?” Around him, the room had gone silent, staring at Aragorn and Gandalf with hope in their gazes.

Aragorn glanced at Gandalf before looking straight at Fili. “Well over two hundred years,” he said softly. “Well over, my friend. I would not be surprised if she sees more than two hundred years pass, in her lifetime.”

Two hundred years. She was halfway between thirty and forty years now, and when she turned to look at him, all he could see were the next one hundred years they would share together, and the hundred after that. Two hundred and more. He could keep her by his side for two hundred more years, at least. “Dernwyn,” he choked out, and she raced to him, a bright smile on her face. Fili heard the sound of joyous laughter and didn’t realize it was his own until she kissed him and made it stop. He wouldn’t lose her so young. He would keep her, he would _keep her_.

All around him, everyone was cheering, but all he could see was her beautiful face in front of his. He rested his forehead against hers and twined his hands with hers. He could imagine her hand, aged as much as his would be, holding on tightly, and she would be there with him as age moved him along. Mahal, she was _his_ to hold through the years to come.

“If this is what you came to tell me,” he began, but she shook her head. She finally pulled away to look him in the eye, and she actually looked _sheepish_.

“That wasn’t exactly what I came to tell you,” she confessed. “I came to tell you something else.”

“Something else?” Dwalin said, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t top that, lass.”

She grinned then, a bright grin, and Fili _knew_ what that grin meant. “Truly?” he managed.

“Truly,” she said. When no one else seemed to understand, she turned to Hildili, standing by Esmeralda’s side, and said, “How do you feel about being an older sister?”

The cheering from _that_ decided Bombur, and he started a feast that wound up lasting at least two days, once the rest of Erebor heard the good news of Dernwyn’s continued long life and the announcement of a third child to the heir. Aragorn agreed to remain for the feast, and Fili was certain it hadn’t taken all that much cajoling to keep him there. Dernwyn wound up with so many toasts to her honor that she was very quickly the only one still able to walk straight. Thankfully, Thorin could as well, and he and Dwalin were able to pour Fili back into his bed.

And when he woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, it was all worth it when he saw Dernwyn’s beautiful face in front of him. He didn’t even mind when Hildili and Holdred burst into their room, giggling and tumbling into the bed.

He wasn’t certain what he’d done to garner such good fortune, but he was taking it, and he wasn’t letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY get to share my surprises about Dernwyn. Little one number 3 and long-life origins! I HAVE BEEN DYING TO SHARE WITH YOU.
> 
> For those who caught on in the very first story just who the two little princesses were: Finduilas married Denethor in canon and bore him two sons. ;)


	30. The future secured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year passes. And peace is finally secured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe huge thanks to everyone who commented, who left a kudos, who bookmarked the fic, and who read it. Thank you SO MUCH for everything!
> 
> No, I'm not done with this 'verse yet. I have the next fic of happy feels up and more angst/future fics either mostly written or planned. Can't give you a definite number yet. Don't be a'feared, though, there's plenty more coming.
> 
> Thank you again!! I love y'all so much. <3

Esmeralda gave birth to a beautiful, healthy boy, much to her own predictions. He was trouble the instant Bilbo saw him, and he fell in love with his ‘nephew’ immediately. It almost pained him to let the little one go back into Esmeralda’s arms, but when he saw his cousin cradling her child, it was well worth surrendering the babe to see. Bofur stood by like a proud parent, absolutely adoring the little one. Tauriel looked in awe and couldn’t seem to stop stroking his little tufts of hair on his feet. Esmeralda named him Meriadoc Brandybuck, and instantly afterward named him Merry as his less formal title.

Merry had barely had his eyes open for more than a week when Bofur finally offered his full intentions to Esmeralda, and Esmeralda accepted. Tauriel and Gimli instantly became their chaperones, and Fili and Kili heartily enjoyed every minute of it.

Then there’d been the letters to send out. Esmeralda had immediately sent out general letters to announce Merry’s birth, then had sent one to Saradoc’s family, telling them they had a grandson. It had been Fili who’d encouraged Esmeralda to ask for Saradoc’s title to one day pass to Merry, as Merry was still, and would always be, Saradoc’s son.

The answer, a resounding ‘yes’, had given Esmeralda peace of mind, that Merry would know and be a part of two families, as a hobbit child should. He would be a Took through and through, adored and loved by Esmeralda’s siblings and parents and cousins.

And he would be a Brandybuck, with cousins and grandparents and those who knew Saradoc best, the ones who could tell him stories of his father. Then, when he was old enough, he would be the Master of Buckland.

Not that any of it mattered to Merry, who was more than content to play peek-a-boo and pull at his toes and giggle at anyone who so much as gave him a smile. More than once had Dwalin stolen him away to bring to the Guard, where Merry had been positively spoiled with attention. It took the sternest of guards to not smile at Merry and his little curls and pointed ears, and so far, not a single guard had managed it.

Dernwyn’s own stomach had grown and grown, and a few months after Merry had been born, another boy had been brought into the world. Fili had made Dwalin and Ori the honorary guardians of their youngest, then had gifted him the name Baldrin, a mix of their two ancestries, in honor of their fallen friend. “It means ‘bold counsel’ amongst the Rohirrim,” Dernwyn had explained, when Dwalin had taken the little babe in his arms, tears in his eyes. “And that’s what Balin was, without any doubt.”

It was more than Bilbo could have hoped for. It was more than he’d dared to hope for, after his nightmares and almost losing Thorin, almost losing them all in one manner or another. Yet here Bilbo was, a ‘nephew’ to his name, a new grand-nephew, and a husband who still lived, fate be damned.

Even now, his mind brought forward the memory of Galadriel’s scroll that Haldir had brought, and her words to him.

_Fate is not so easily pushed aside. Yet fate also will not risk future plans to satisfy that which has not occurred. It was given a battle in Erebor’s shadow that grievously injured three that were dear to the line of Durin. It is my belief that fate will be satisfied with that, and need nothing more. One day, it will have their lives as its own. But you may rest, and may my words bring you peace._

_There will be trials ahead of you. For though fate has accomplished the goal it intended, in the battlefield it made of Erebor’s fields, it is not done with you. There will be more ahead for you that will bring you pain, despair, and grief. Yet if you hold true to those whom you love, if you continue to remain strong and determined, you will come through it, and for the better. For fate does not deign to be cruel to you. Your story must weave through countless others. And what you see as pain and peril, fate sees as a means to an end for you or another. Through trials, your life will change. And I foresee it as a life filled with family, joy, and peace._

_I will watch over you, Bilbo Baggins. If you have a need for anything, do not hesitate to bring it to me._

_Ever your friend,_

_Galadriel_

It hadn’t exactly brought comfort, that fate was not through with him, but her words had still offered him some solace. That it had gotten what it wanted from Thorin, Fili, and Kili, and it was satisfied. Their lives could be taken much, much later. For now, fate had realigned itself.

The wind blew a little harder, and Bilbo didn’t realize he was cold until a heavy coat rested upon his shoulders, instantly surrounding him with warmth. Hands gently ran down his arms to further warm him. “You’ve gotten very good at hiding,” Thorin murmured in his ear.

“Not hiding,” Bilbo disagreed. “Taking a break from the children.”

“I’m not certain whether you’re speaking of Merry, Hildili, or Kili.”

Bilbo let out a snort. “Which do you think?”

“I’ll speak with Fili about keeping his brother in line.”

That earned him a full outright laugh, and Bilbo finally turned to face his husband. The mithril was gone from his beard, though his braids were still there, and his hair hung about his face. A sure sign that he’d been heading to retire for the evening when he’d begun following Bilbo. His wedding braid had been redone to match Bilbo’s after the battle, his own vows made once more. Now the bead caught his attention moments before Thorin cupped his face between his warm hands. “You’re cold, beloved,” Thorin murmured.

“It’s a bit chilly,” he agreed. He was fairly certain his feet were frozen to the very stone beneath him, and it was making his ankle ache something horrible. Every time it was cold, now, it just ached and ached. Some days, it felt as brittle as the icicles that hung from the gates. One quick snap and it would just break. He wrapped his ankle those days, and quietly wore his longer trousers so no one could see.

“What are the plans for tomorrow?” he asked. “Bard _is_ coming, isn’t he?”

“Yes, _King_ Bard is coming.” Thorin narrowed his gaze at Bilbo’s wide grin. “I haven’t any idea why this thrills you so, to have him with a crown.”

“He deserves it. And honestly, it’s about time. I’m glad to see it.”

“Then you won’t come out here and hide?”

Bilbo pursed his lips. “I’m not _hiding_. Just taking a few mere moments to myself.”

Thorin’s gaze told him exactly what he thought of _that_. “You take more than a few mere moments,” he said. “Would that you could tell me what has you hidden away most days. You slip away like a burglar, and if I hadn’t followed you out this evening, I would never have found you at all.”

It was an interesting place, Bilbo supposed, for someone to stand upon. But while wandering Erebor after the battle, restless and needing something to do while Thorin healed, he’d found a small hole in one of the archways near the gates. The rock had been seared, no doubt on account of Gandalf’s dragon, and it had been just big enough for someone to slip through. So he’d carefully stepped outside of the archway and out onto the mountainside itself, and had found a small shelf big enough to stand on. Big enough for several someones to stand on, if they felt so inclined, and there was a nice green moss beginning to grow up the stone from all the rain. It had become his place when he just needed to think. And lately, that had become more and more of a thing he needed.

Still, it wasn’t fair that he continued to slip away when he could. “I didn’t mean to hide. I didn’t realize I was slipping away all that often, to be honest.”

“Not enough that your presence was hurting others,” Thorin assured him upon hearing the regret in Bilbo’s tone. “But you were missed, by several of us. And by myself every time.” He took in a deep breath of the cool night air and didn’t flinch. He rarely did anymore, the wound all healed, the scar impressive and hidden now by his chest hair.

Bilbo still knew where it was. The line was a scar not just on Thorin’s chest, but in Bilbo’s mind, taunting him every day.

“You aren’t having nightmares anymore, are you?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No. I haven’t had one since before the battle.” And if he never had another one, he would be content.

Thorin hummed and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. “Good. Then I can rest all the easier for knowing it.”

And he had: since Caila had been defeated, and Erebor reclaimed once more, Thorin had been much more content, more at peace. It was a good look on him, to see him so free of worry-lines. Moria was being reclaimed, and the first few returns on the mines had shown that yes, the mines were still very lucrative. Denethor was said to be arriving soon, and with his aid, Kili and Legolas were going back into Mirkwood, in the hopes of properly renaming it Greenwood. Little Merry was well, as was tiny Baldrin.

And Bilbo was safe. Bilbo was well. That, in and of itself, was probably the most calming thought in Thorin’s mind.

“Good. Then you can stop placing little bells on my pillow,” Bilbo said. At Thorin’s attempt at an expression of innocence, Bilbo raised a very disgruntled eyebrow. “I mean it. They’re very cute, but they’re _not_ going in my hair.”

“That’s what you think,” Thorin said. “I’m just waiting for the proper moment, and then they’re getting braided in.”

“I’ll just take them right out.”

“You could, except I’m going to braid them in underneath all your other hair. A small spot you think I don’t know about.”

Bilbo froze. Thorin’s face was far too smug to be anything except truthful. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bilbo insisted, but Thorin gave him a knowing look. Oh he _knew_. “I never told you, not once, how did you-?”

“Beloved, I know every inch of you,” Thorin said, almost _gently_ , the wretch. “I most certainly know about that little patch of grey that you so carefully hide.” He leaned forward and brought his lips right up to Bilbo’s ear. “It’s one of my favorite things about you now,” he whispered, a smile in his voice. “I’ve grown fond of that small silver patch.”

“ _Grey_ is a great deal different than _silver_ ,” Bilbo retorted, but his cheeks were warm now, so warm they were almost burning.

“I would put gold and mithril on you, never mind silver, if I had the chance,” Thorin confessed. “I would drape you in it. You deserve more than I can ever give you. My beautiful Beloved.”

One of Thorin’s hands wound up in Bilbo’s, and he used the chance to bring it up to under the cloak, and pressed it against his vest. Thorin paused, frowning, as it attempting to figure out what it was. Bilbo let his fingers wander across the fabric, tracing the pattern, feeling the gentle dips and ridges.

He knew the minute Thorin figured it out. His husband’s eyes whipped up to his. “Still?” he asked, a bit hoarsely.

“Still,” Bilbo said softly. “I’ve never taken it off. I never will. It means as much to me as my marriage bead and ring. It’s my greatest promise from you.”

Without taking his eyes from Bilbo, Thorin carefully undid the golden buttons on the vest until the fabric could easily be pulled away. Only then did he move his gaze, folding the top of the vest over until he could see the shirt beneath.

There, against the light fabric, was a pin of gold and mithril, entwined through the branches of the tree. Thorin let his fingers glide over it, every now and then brushing against Bilbo in the process, only heightening every nerve until all Bilbo could focus on was his hand and its light brushes against his shirt and his skin.

“I had assumed you put it in your chest, to keep with your other special things,” Thorin admitted. “Once you began wearing the thicker dwarven vests and tunics, I knew you said it was harder to place the pin in.”

“It was. But it fit neatly under the vest, when it was pinned to my thinner shirt. I wouldn’t dare take it off.”

Without any warning Thorin suddenly swooped in and captured his lips. He was heat, all heat, and Bilbo curled his fingers around his husband’s tunic and let soft, urgent lips warm him until he was flushed and hot. It was almost worth having come out here to be cold, if just to be so instantly warmed from head to toe.

After Bilbo was almost so warm he was about to knock the cloak off, ice and snow be damned, Thorin finally relented, and with one last nip at Bilbo’s lip, backed away. “You were doing a good job of keeping me warm,” Bilbo wheedled, if just to have Thorin back.

Thorin looked amused, but Bilbo would let him be smug if it meant he could have another kiss like that. “You’d be warmer inside. Why you continue to come out here, I do not know.”

It wasn’t quite a bucket of ice water over the head, but it still left him a little chilled. Sensing the change, Thorin leaned in, pressing his forehead to Bilbo’s. His hands came to rest on his shoulders, a heavy comfort that left Bilbo ground in their strength. “What drives you from Erebor?” Thorin asked. “Tell me what I can do, beloved. You are full of drive and energy, as you always have been, and then you disappear and wander listlessly like a ghost. I followed you tonight. I know.”

The air seemed to promise more snow. There was still quite a bit of it everywhere, and Bilbo’s feet had long since gone numb, frozen to the stone. The coat on his shoulders would only help for so long, and the warmth from the kiss was fading. The only things giving him warmth were Thorin’s hands, warm and gentle, a promise of life.

_His hand falling from Bilbo’s cheek, eyes already shutting. Cold and getting colder in Bilbo’s grasp, blood making it hard to hold onto. Tumbling from the stretcher, pale and lifeless, no strength or ability to lift it back up again._

“Bilbo?”

“When you were so worried, about me, about my living, I, I didn’t care, not the way you did,” Bilbo confessed in a soft whisper. “You were anxious and desperate to keep me safe and I was so focused on keeping _you_ safe, and I almost lost you anyway, and I understand, now. Why you were so insistent on keeping me close, on keeping me safe, why the first thieves frightened you so much and left you worried for years on end. Because it’s been months since the battle, almost a year, and I still can’t…”

The memories, they wouldn’t leave him alone sometimes. Knowing what Thorin’s blood felt like, knowing that Thorin wasn’t infallible, that he _could_ fall. It had always been a terror, a fear from a dream, but it had been real and there had been nothing Bilbo could do except beg fate to not take him.

Knowing fate would more than likely leave them alone for the rest of their lives was only so much kindness.

Thorin shifted to keep his forehead against Bilbo’s and brushed his nose against Bilbo’s, the hobbit’s frozen skin somehow not deterring Thorin. “I was wrong, though,” Thorin said softly. “Worrying did nothing except cause you pain. If tomorrow were my last day on this earth, or yours, I would spend it with you, doing the same things I would do every day. Making you smile, holding you tightly. Kissing you.” He swallowed hard. “I would do anything for you. You are my breath, my joy, my heart. Where you go, I go. _That_ is my greatest promise to you.” His hand came up once more to rest against the pin. “Even if I am not here beside you, I will always be with you.”

Bilbo pressed harder against Thorin’s forehead, needing to feel him, desperate to just _feel_. His husband’s breath was hot on his face, grounding him further still. “I watched you bleed, I watched you take what I thought were your last breaths,” he whispered, because it wasn’t something he could just let go of so easily. He would probably take his fear with him to his own grave.

It was horrible, walking the same footsteps of someone else, knowing the other side of the story. Every fear Thorin had held, Bilbo now knew intimately.

“But I didn’t, and I’m still here,” Thorin countered, and perhaps Bilbo wasn’t the only one taking a stroll in someone else’s steps. Perhaps Thorin had figured out a bit of Bilbo’s peace and acceptance. They had taken and learned a bit from each other, over their journey.

It seemed only fair. They’d fought with and for each other and had come out the stronger for it.

It still didn’t stop the wind from biting at his eyes, making them water, or so he’d claim later. Thorin gently brushed the ones that trailed down his cheeks away, murmuring something about them freezing to his face and making Bilbo snort in amusement. He clutched at Thorin and sighed. He had Thorin. He had his husband who was well and alive and still ruling.

“Tell me what I can do,” Thorin whispered. “Tell me, beloved.”

 _Promise me we’ll never see the other die,_ Bilbo thought first, selfishly, and then he pushed the thought away. Not down into some hidden depths, but to elsewhere, where his other fears were kept. Fears of Hildili falling off the edge of the mountain if she kept insisting on walking across the top of the gates, fears of Holdred catching some terrible illness now that he’d taken to following Oin around, fears of Legolas and Kili falling apart, of another hideous power coming to try and take over Middle-Earth.

But Hildili was carefully watched every day by those much more responsible than her, Holdred was Oin’s shadow in practice only, Legolas and Kili were cheery and bright, and Middle-Earth was calm. And even if there were more dangers and risks ahead for them, there was aid they could call for, those they would help in a moment. Even now, Denethor was riding towards them, slowly traveling to aid them in cleaning out the forest once and for all.

He took in a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was steady. “A garden,” he said. “Something I can do with my hands, since I keep getting shooed out of the kitchen by Bombur’s would-be cooks.”

Thorin’s lips twitched up. “I could have a talk with them, if that would be easier,” he said, but Bilbo shook his head.

“No, leave them be. Never anger your cook, _ever_. There’s solid advice for you. No, I want a garden. Here, out here, in the sun and the rain and open air. Visiting Bag-End and the Shire just reminded me of how much I loved to garden. So, right here will do.”

His husband’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Here?” Thorin asked. “On this little ledge that I cannot even promise is _stable_?”

“It’s stable enough for me,” Bilbo insisted. “You can have Bofur and the Miner’s Guild check it over if you want, but this is my space, a place just for me, and there’s already green things growing. There’s moss under that patch of snow over there, and I could put tomatoes of my own in the other corner. There are some plants that do well in rocky soil, or thin soil, and after we bring up some dirt to lay about, I could plant-what?”

Thorin was looking at him like he was a gem beyond compare, fondness in his gaze. “Nearly eleven years, you think you’d stop looking at me that way,” Bilbo said, but his cheeks were going pink, he could feel it.

“You could give me a hundred years, Bilbo Baggins, and I would never stop gazing at you with anything less than all of my adoration.” He brushed a hand through Bilbo’s hair, and damp tendrils came back to rest on his cheek. Startled, Bilbo reached for his hair and found it cold and wet. As soon as he turned his gaze up to the sky above him, he found even more snow gently falling from the clouds above.

“Bilbo.”

Bilbo brought his gaze back down to his husband, and framed by the back light coming from inside, hair tumbling over his shoulders, silver streaks glistening with new snow, it left Thorin a stunning image. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what he looked like, standing out here with Thorin’s coat that was much too large for him, hair wet and dragging his curls down, nose and cheeks burning from the cold.

Yet Thorin was gazing at him as if he were the greatest treasure, as if he wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around Bilbo and never let go. Bilbo was more than content to let him.

He took Thorin’s hand in his and gently brushed his nose against Thorin’s. “Cold,” Thorin murmured, but didn’t let go.

“Then take me inside where it’s warmer,” Bilbo murmured back, and he could all but feel Thorin’s lips turn up into a smile.

Come spring, he knew there would be a garden of epic proportions on the side of the mountain, probably far too much for what he honestly wanted. His own little secret garden that, if Thorin had anything to say about it, wouldn’t be very little or secret indeed.

But that was for spring. For now, all he wanted was his warm, whole, alive husband to lead him back to their warm and soft bed and hold him until Bilbo couldn’t figure out where Thorin ended and he began. Together, no matter what came before them.

“There should be a tree,” Thorin told him as they made their way back through the hallways.

“A tree, on the side of the mountain?”

“A tree, much like your heart’s tree in the Shire. Like the tree in your pin. If anyone could grow a tree, it would be you.”

And Bilbo smiled.

_Finis_


End file.
